No Church In The Wild
by Persephone Price
Summary: Normal!TW characters. So AU that I don't even know where to begin. Spin-off of Fast Times at Beacon Hills High, aka Derek/OC, OC equals Amy. Also Stiles/Erica/Isaac, Scott/Allison, Lydia/Jackson, with other pairings that I don't want to divulge just yet. Strong language, substance use, sexual themes - pretty much all the things that make high school bearable.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: OK, so, this is a companion piece to Fast Times at Beacon Hills High, but it's AU from everything. (AU from my own story - weird, I know...). You know, I was watching the last episode and I was like, "No one actually gets to have any fun," so hence this was born. Also I was rewatching Skins season 2... But yeah! There are no werewolves in this, just the characters as normal people. I thought it would be interesting. Here ya go! Nice and light, a departure from FT BHH...**

**Song for the chapter: Can't Stop Partying by Weezer & Lil' Wayne**

**Disclaimer: I only own Amy.**

**Warnings: Language, drinking, smoking.**

* * *

**Can't Stop Partying**

Lydia Martin's birthday party was the event of the year. Everybody knew this. In fact, it was such a widely known truth that she didn't even bother sending out invitations. Everyone who was anyone at Beacon Hills High would be there, and to not at least show up for one of her famous pink-grapefruit cosmopolitans would be social suicide.

Amy, as Allison's neighbor, was one of the lucky few who actually got to witness the nascence of the extravaganza. It was tough being new in town – that much was indisputable. Lydia didn't think that little Miss Amelia Bell fully understood just how fortunate she was to have moved into the right house and, consequently, established herself with the right sort of people straight off the bat.

Lydia was a perfectionist. She was a perfectionist, and she was a micromanager. Every detail had to be just so, right down to the outfits of her comrades. If Amy was to be a member of her social circle, she had to look the part.

But she couldn't look _too_ good, because upstaging the host would be a gaffe worthy of crucifixion, as far as she was concerned.

Her minions sat in her bedroom, awaiting instruction. Just how it was supposed to be. Lydia stood before them, heaps of shopping bags in hand.

"Allison, you wear the Free People romper because you have the legs to pull it off," she ordered pensively, "And pin your hair up. Amy," she continued, her strawberry-blonde hair whirling behind her as she turned to the other girl, "try something blue. It's a good color for you. Don't go too heavy on the eyeliner, though – this is supposed to be soiree, not a discotheque, and no one needs to be looking like a raccoon."

The two brunettes nodded obediently as Lydia left them to get changed. There were still so many preparations that needed to be taken care of…

**oxOxo**

The party was in full swing.

The descent from classy to trashy was well underway, much to Lydia's chagrin. Girls and guys, guys and guys, girls and girls – it seemed that everyone was either dancing or making out. Or out of sight. Doing god-knows-what, god-knows-where. But Lydia had locked her bedroom door.

All her friends were having fun, all her friends were drunk. All of them except for Jackson and Scott. Allison, only tipsy, was hanging off of an ecstatic-looking Mr. McCall. But he was sober. Conspicuously sober. It didn't make sense.

She strutted up to the saccharine pair, a tray of drinks perched on her well-manicured left hand. She thrust a red solo cup at Scott (the clear plastic ones had all been used).

"Drink," she commanded.

He was taken aback. "Don't peer-pressure him," Amy hiccupped loudly.

"Shut up, Amy," Stiles cut in. "Do as the lady says, man," he instructed. He threw Lydia was meant to be a smoldering glance as he took a drag of the joint that they had been sharing. He inhaled too much and smoke poured from his lungs as he began coughing violently, effectively sabotaging himself.

Scott, who was midway through a long swig of the strong, fruity liquid, began to choke in laughter. Allison patted him on the back through her own glee and soon he was able to swallow with a grimace. Neither he nor Allison had ever been known to drink excessively. Stiles and Amy, on the other hand…

"Don't tell me to shut up!" Amy protested belligerently when Stiles ceased his convulsions. The girl was wasted. _So_ trailer park, Lydia couldn't help but think. She rolled her eyes and walked away; she had more important matters to attend to, namely figuring out what Jackson's problem was. She left the quartet be.

"Dude, I'm trying to put in work over here," Stiles hissed, passing the blunt back to Scott, "Stop being a cock-block!" Allison and Scott, through the clarity of semi-sobriety, were unable to prevent themselves from snickering at this.

"I am _not_ being a cock-block," she slurred.

"Bro, you've got no chance," Scott added, "She's over there talking to Jackson right now."

"I thought they were broken up!" he exclaimed in horror.

"It's complicated," Allison stated solemnly.

"Complicated, coooomplicated," Amy drawled in imitation.

Stiles chucked despite himself and said, "I don't know how you got so drunk, but it's hilarious, Ames."

"I only had six," she insisted, holding up six fingers as she swayed from side to side.

"_Six_?" Allison demanded in disbelief, "We've only been drinking for an hour!"

"Psh, you know what guys, YOLO. Yo – fucking – lo."

Stiles nearly doubled over in laughter. He hooked his arm around her shoulders and said, "Y'know, if I weren't so in love with Lydia…"

Amy's eyes widened in dismay as she wriggled from his grasp.

"I'm kidding, I'm _kidding_!" he assured her.

"You _better_ be kidding!" While the two of them were engulfed in their bickering, Allison and Scott seized the opportunity to slip away to somewhere more… secluded. When it dawned on the other two, they turned to each other slowly.

"Weeeell," Stiles started awkwardly.

"Well," she mimicked. They both looked around shiftily, desperate to find something to distract from the fact that their other friends had abandoned them. Being drunk together was fine, but being drunk together _alone_ was awkward. The fact that they were in smack in the center of a throng of couples going at it only heighted this. Even that creeper _Matt_ was getting some, and here he was stuck with a bleating harpy. Okay, maybe that was harsh. She was objectively attractive, but their chemistry was only as friends.

Stiles tried to maneuver them towards the beer pong tournament, but Amy stopped him.

"Hey Stiles," she started slyly, "Where's that friend of yours? The hot one?"

"Friend? What friend? I have a lot of friends, you're going to need to be more specific…"

"The one with the eyes, and the hair… And the six-pack…" she trailed off dreamily.

"Oh, you mean Derek?" he said dryly. "This isn't really his scene…"

"Okay dude, I need to ask you something," she blurted out.

"What?"

"I need a favor. A big favor. Can you, like, hook that shit up? Like wingman me? Because damn, that man is gorgeous."

Stiles burst out laughing. "Oh my god, Amy, I don't think you understand the situation at all. He and I, I mean, we're friends, but we're not exactly tight. He's not the easiest person to get along with, to put it lightly. I wouldn't get your hopes up."

Amy carefully processed his words. An idea struck her like a lightning bolt. "If you wingman me, I'll wingwoman you with Lydia."

Stiles' honey eyes widened. _Ah yes_, Amy thought diabolically, _I've said the magic words_. He wet his lips and said, "Trust me, Amy, if I _could_… He keeps to himself, though. I can't think of anything that would get him to this party, not to mention he graduated years ago. He's a little old for you, don't you think?"

"Mmmm he's what, like twenty-four? Six years ain't nothin'!" But she had to admit, it _was_ kind of a lot. She couldn't imagine him going for a silly little high schooler… But hey, it was still worth a shot!

Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the sound of sirens. "Fuck," was what came out instead.

Amy's nervous ear-to-ear grin told him that she didn't understand the severity of the situation. If he got caught… But wait, his dad wasn't the sheriff anymore. Well shit, that was a downer. But the last thing he needed was something to make his father look even worse in front of the town council.

"We need to go," he told her. Without waiting for a response, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her past the pool, out the back gate. Of course, they weren't the only ones with this bright idea; soon, a massive swarm of teenagers threatened to trample them. Amy was lucky to have Stiles as a source of support and guidance; otherwise, she might have been lost in the stampede.

Eventually, they broke off from the crowd. The only problem was, they had somehow ended up in the woods.

"Well damn," Amy muttered. All the running had sobered her up, but only slightly. "Where the hell are we?"

"No clue. Shit." Stiles ran a hand over his short crop of hair and said, "We should try to find a road or something."

She nodded in consensus, and together they started back towards the direction they'd come from.

After about ten minutes of trudging through the soggy soil, Amy's alcohol blanket began to wear off and she started shivering. Spring nights were still cool in Beacon Hills, especially when you were only wearing a skimpy chemise and shorts.

"I'm cold," she huffed petulantly. Up ahead, they saw the inviting gleam of streetlights. But it was after one AM – the odds of anyone not-shady driving by were slim. Once they reached the dark, moonlit asphalt, she nudged Stiles hard in the ribs.

"Ow, _what_?" he hissed.

"I have an idea," she stated sneakily. She was far too drunk to sound as disconcerting as she did. Stiles didn't like where this was going.

"What?" He couldn't stop himself from asking; curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

"You should call Derek to pick us up."

"Now _why_ would I do that?"

"A) because I will owe you one, and B) because we're probably miles from home. And who else could you call? Scott? Your dad? I don't think so."

She had a point, but he was absolutely loath to admit it. Beating down his pride, he unenthusiastically shoved his hand into his jeans pocket and fished out his cell phone. Stiles prefaced dialing Derek's number with, "He probably won't even answer," but pressed the phone to his ear nevertheless.

Much to his surprise, a gruff voice answered after only two rings. "What is it, Stiles?" he grunted. He briefly wondered if he had woken him up, but he couldn't imagine that any twenty-four year old would be asleep at one on a Friday night.

"Hey – uh – Derek? I'm – uh – I'm sorry to bother you, man, but I have a _liiiittle _problemo," he stammered.

"What is it?"

"So I was at this party, and it kind of got broken up by the cops, and, well, long story short, my friend and I are lost in the middle of god-knows where and we need someone to come get us…"

There was a discouraging silence on the other end of the line. Finally, "Are you drunk?"

"What? Me? _Noooo_, never!"

"You're trashed."

"I mean, I _would_ drive myself home…" It was a lie. But it was a lie that just might work.

Bingo. "No, don't be an idiot. Ugh. Fine. I'll come get you. Where are you," he agreed begrudgingly.

"Yo Amy, what does that street sign say?" Stiles demanded.

"Governor Street," she chirped, squinting her eyes to read the lettering. "We're at the corner of Governor aaaand Rogers."

"Governor and Rogers," he repeated into the phone.

"Ugh. Alright, I'll be there soon," he stated before hanging up.

"He's coming," Stiles announced to an overeager Amy.

She very nearly jumped in excitement. "Yessss," she exclaimed in victory. Stiles shook his head. He couldn't imagine that she was his type.

**oxOxo**

They waited by the side of the road for a total of around fifteen minutes. In that stretch of time, not even one car passed by. This was lucky, they supposed. Neither of them would have been able to defend themselves if it was, say, a serial killer.

When Derek pulled up in his sleek black Camaro, Stiles could practically _feel_ the lust emanating off of Amy. Oh boy. What was he in for?

He didn't even bother stepping out of the car; instead, he opened the passenger's side by reaching across the seat. The first thing their roguishly handsome rescuer said was, "Where the hell is your car?"

Stiles smiled sheepishly. "I seem to have misplaced it," he said, helping Amy off of the grass.

Derek set his jaw and for a moment he looked as if he might drive away. However, he swallowed his indignation and growled, "Get in the car."

Stiles made a move to guide Amy forward, seeing as he didn't expect her to be able to walk properly, but It was as if a switch had been flicked and she was a totally different person.

"I'm fine," she snapped, waving him off. She flashed Derek a devilish smirk and swaggered towards the gorgeous vehicle. Although her gait held a bit of sway, it was hard to tell whether it was intentional or a product of the alcohol. Derek raised his dark eyebrows, but remained silent as she climbed (with minimal difficulty) into the cramped backseat.

After recovering from the shock of seeing his friend so overtly seductive, Stiles scrambled into the front seat. "My friend Amy, I think you guys have met before…" he explained.

"I remember," Derek cut him off curtly, glancing at her through the rearview mirror. Her bright blue orbs met his gaze, giving him the same sultry look she had when walking to the car. The fact that she had yet to say anything astounded Stiles.

_Play it cool, Amy, play it cool_, she coached herself. She wasn't stupid. She knew that her overzealous drunken self could be irritating and off-putting. She didn't bother hiding it from Stiles, well, because she had no interest in him. But Derek… She was on her best behavior.

"You guys smell like weed," he stated warily.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Stiles replied, not really meaning it.

Amy ignored the jab. "So Derek," she started coyly, "I hope we didn't interrupt anything _too_ important. A guy like you must have a lot going on a Friday night…"

"Not tonight," he answered brusquely.

"That's too bad," she mused. _I bet I could help with that_, was generally understood to be the last part of the sentence.

Stiles thought Derek looked… Dare he say it? _Uncomfortable_. One glance at his chiseled profile was plenty indication that he was trying hard to stay focused on the road. If Amy could pull this off, he would be _beyond_ impressed.

"Who am I dropping off first?" he asked dryly.

"Stiles, you live closest," Amy said.

"Yeah. Yeah, I do," he agreed lamely.

"Fine," Derek grit out.

What followed was dead silence, and the unrecognized sexual tension in the car was almost nauseating. Stiles briefly wondered if anything would happen between the two when he was gone. He couldn't imagine that it would, but Amy was putting on a much better sober front than he thought she was capable of. He had underestimated her, and her overall aura had become... predatory.

He nearly jumped out of the car once they reached his house. "Thanks for the ride," he said in a rush to escape the awkwardness, "You kids have fun!" He gave them a lewd wink, slamming the door before either got the chance to say anything.

The remaining pair made eye contact, but Derek looked away after only a millisecond. "Where –" he cleared his throat "– Where do you live," he demanded.

Amy slithered into the front seat and he averted his gaze as a pair of long, bare legs filled his peripheral line of sight.

"I don't want to go home yet," she protested. For the first time since she got into the car, he saw the effects of the alcohol.

"You've been drinking," he stated, "You should go to bed."

"Only if you join me," she pouted.

"Let me just stop you there – trust me, you're going to regret saying all this in the morning," he replied, amused. Derek was prickly, but he didn't _entirely_ lack a sense of humor. Plus, it was nice to know that good-looking girls still found him attractive. Even if they were only eighteen…

"I regret nothing," she announced animatedly. _Oh no, keep it in check, Amy, keep it in check!_

He shot her a quizzical look before repeating, "Where do you live?"

"No, no, no, we're not done here."

Again, Derek raised his eyebrows. "We're not?" he humored her.

"No – look, you're here, I'm here, _we're_ here, together, in your sexy-ass car…"

"Where are you going with this?" he teased, feigning innocence.

"I'm just saying, we're here. Together. Alone. At night. There is a mountain of possibilities."

Derek leant in towards her, and Amy couldn't believe what was happening. In a husky tone, he said, "What are you insinuating?"

She felt her heart palpate wildly in her chest. In fact, she even began to feel light-headed. "I think you know," she murmured flirtatiously, also leaning in. Now, their faces were mere inches apart. She could see every beautiful detail of his face. Kind of. If she ignored the spinning sensation.

He pulled back abruptly and her body screamed in protest. "Where do you live?" he asked again, trying and failing to prevent a smirk from gracing his features.

Finally resigning herself to the fact that her plot to seduce him was destined to fail, she rolled her eyes and churlishly replied, "Pinegrove Court."

Relieved, Derek threw the car into drive and got her home as quickly as possible.

Once he was parked on the street in front of what she claimed was her house (he, on the other hand, wasn't too sure), she stood at the open door to his car and stared at him expectantly.

"Well, thanks," she managed. She attempted to conceal her disappointment by turning away before it became obvious. Much to her shock, Derek came out of nowhere and blocked her path, cornering her against the car as her heart hammered against her ribcage.

"Don't mention it," he breathed into her ear. They weren't touching, but the heat between their bodies was stifling. Amy suddenly felt quite faint. She didn't dare turn her head, because then their faces would be touching. Luckily, she couldn't see the wolfish smirk plastered across his face. He loved how much power he had over her – the hunted had easily become the hunter.

But he was just teasing.

Before anything else could happen, he pulled away and said, "Go to sleep. Oh, and don't forget this." He handed her her phone, which she must have accidentally left in the back seat. Without another word, he got in the car and sped off.

She didn't dare. She slowly looked down at her cell, praying. She slid her thumb across the screen and went through her contacts.

Her heart thumped loudly as she scrolled down to "D."

And there it was – a miracle, a glorious miracle.

Derek Hale's phone number.

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**Author's Note: Haha okay, in my head-cannon Stiles and Scott are stoners, don't judge me. They just seem like they would be. Hope you all liked it! Please review! PLEASE! Love y'all :-)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: Soooo yeah. I can't stay away from this fandom, I just can't. I HAVE LITERALLY BEEN WRITING FOR 3 DAYS STRAIGHT BECAUSE I'M SICK AND THE FINALE IS TONIGHT AND DON'T JUDGE ME. I have some serious dramaz planned for these crazy kids, some drama that has nothing to do with werewolves. So! If you have any interest at all, let me know. Also, you'll notice that Amy's a little different here than she is in Fast Times, which, y'know, will spice things up a bit. (lol the one who is the most out of character is my OC, is that even possible?). Or, you could just say that she is beginning of FT Amy because she's horribly immature. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy.**

**Song for the chapter: Ain't No Rest For The Wicked by Cage The Elephant.**

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**Ain't No Rest For The Wicked**

With an excitement that was both unprecedented and unwarranted, Amy very nearly skipped up the walkway to Allison's house. Her plan had worked. She couldn't believe it: the unexpressive, unattainable, and undeniably sexy Derek Hale had given her his phone number. Whatever fate was in store for the two of them was now in Amy's hands.

The hands that were currently decorated with a colorful array of semi-faded club stamps. The hands whose nails were painted a chipped, neon orange. The hands that now held a stone to be tossed at Allison's window.

What? It was spring break.

Not to mention, she'd always wanted to throw a rock at someone's house like people did in the movies.

If Allison wasn't awake, she was screwed. Her obscenely strict parents would not tolerate her returning home at two a.m. reeking of pot and alcohol. And if Stiles' dad found her passed out on their sofa one more time, things wouldn't be pretty. Half the school already thought they were dating and she didn't need his father thinking so, too (spoiler alert: he already thought they were).

Allison's parents were away for the weekend; normally, they were just as harsh as hers were, and showing up at their house in the middle of the night wouldn't fly.

But to her great fortune, Allison finally came to the window… with Scott.

It was only a matter of seconds before the latter appeared at the front door in his boxers and let her in.

"Allison says you can stay in the guest room," he announced groggily.

She smirked knowingly at his tousled hair and state of undress. "Cool." After following him up the stairs, she sent him a wink (much like the one Stiles had given her and Derek) and said, "You two be safe!"

Poor Scott shook his head sheepishly and vanished behind Allison's door. Amy was silently thankful that their rooms weren't adjacent. Although, she had to admit, the two of them didn't strike her as particularly wild in that department – they were probably pretty traditional. Scott seemed like a missionary type of guy.

Plus, Amy could sleep through almost anything.

**oxOxo**

The next morning, Amy entered the Argents' kitchen to see Scott and Allison making out blissfully against the counter. The two of them were so cute that sometimes she felt physically ill when watching them. No one was supposed to be that happy. No one. Especially not so early in the morning.

"Ahem," she cleared her throat.

They jumped apart in embarrassment.

"Oh, don't stop on account of me," she joked, "I'll just be third wheeling in the dining room."

"Sorry," Allison apologized with beet-red cheeks. "How did you sleep?"

"Fine, you know me," she laughed, "give me a pillow and a blanket and I'm out like a light. Interesting turn of developments last night, though…"

"Oh?" Allison pressed curiously. The last time they'd seen her at the party was with Stiles. Both she and Scott had always suspected that something might happen between Amy and him – in fact, they _hoped_ that something might happen between them. Which was why they constantly found ways to "accidentally" abandon them alone together. Fortunately, the two were still willfully ignorant of this matchmaking scheme.

"I got Derek Hale's number."

"What?" That certainly wasn't what either of them was expecting to hear.

"Yeah, I know right?"

"That's… good?" Allison tried and failed to conceal her disapproval; it was no secret that the Argents and the Hales didn't exactly see eye to eye. Allison's aunt, Kate, had had a relationship with Derek that ended rather badly. Of course, as Amy's best friend, Allison had known about her little crush for a while – since the time that Amy first saw him at one of the Beacon Hills lacrosse games, to be exact. Which was partially why she had been pushing so hard for something to happen with Stiles.

"How?" Scott questioned in disbelief.

"I don't even know, dude. I was as surprised as you are, believe me! He drove me and Stiles home from the party last night, and it just sort of… happened. Isn't that sweet?" she exclaimed animatedly.

"Yeah, I guess," he chuckled, nudging Allison.

"Oh yeah, that's great." She sounded incredibly unconvincing, but Amy didn't notice through her self-contained delight.

"Derek doesn't usually do stuff like that," Scott said skeptically.

"Well, Stiles had to lure him there first by pretending he was going to drive drunk," she explained matter-of-factly. Her nonchalant tone made it seem like this was a completely logical thing to do, so both Scott and Allison almost overlooked what she actually said.

After a moment: "Stiles did _what_?" Allison demanded.

"Hm? Oh yeah… I mean, it was a bit of a stretch, but it worked."

"Derek's sister was killed by a drunk driver," Scott stated gravely, "Stiles knows that."

Amy winced. "Oh shit…"

Even Allison looked appalled. "Why would Stiles do that?"

"They have a weird relationship," Scott explained, "They like to see how far they can push each other until one of them snaps. It's not healthy, trust me. I mean, they could just stop being friends, but nooo. I think deep down they both enjoy it. They're machinists or something."

Allison stifled a laugh with the back of her hand. "I think you mean masochists," she assisted.

Amy stared at Scott blankly for several seconds in an effort to ignore how kinky he made Stiles and Derek's relationship sound, before asking, "Do you think I should text him?"

Allison shrugged and answered, "Do what you want," but actually meant _'no_.'

"I don't think Derek's much of a recreational texter," Scott offered with a laugh.

"Dammit," she cussed, "Well what should I do?"

"Don't look at me," Scott mumbled, opening the floor to an unenthused Allison.

"Honestly, Ames, don't you think he's a little old?" she tried gently.

"You don't think I have a shot with him, _now_ I get it…"

"No, it's not that at all!" she said quickly, "In fact, I think you could do better, quite frankly. Right Scott?"

Scott looked well beyond uncomfortable as Allison nudged him in the ribs slightly harder than necessary. "Mhm," he replied obediently.

"He's your friend," Amy protested, "You're supposed to support his case! Bros before hos!"

Allison turned to Scott slowly, daring him to say anything in Derek's favor. The kid was so whipped that it was laughable.

"Er – _friend_ is such a strong word," he stuttered, his voice jumping an octave.

"Whatever," Amy said with a roll of her sapphire eyes, "He's hot as hell. Imma tap that ass – got it? Mark my words…"

She then proceeded to saunter towards the door, leaving her friends utterly perplexed. Amy was a strange one, they agreed silently. That much was clear.

Scott was the first to speak in her wake: "Why does she talk like – "

"I don't know," Allison answered warily before he got the chance to finish.

"I seriously don't get why she and Stiles can't just figure out that they're perfect for one another. I'm sick of him pining after Lydia, and now it sounds like Amy is going to be doing the same with Derek."

"I don't know," she repeated. "Have you ever thought that maybe they're _too_ similar? And from the sounds of things, Derek's not completely adverse to her."

"Yeah, god knows how that happened…" Scott agreed.

"Well, she's pretty," Allison reasoned.

"But this is _Derek_."

"True. Yeah, who knows." She had had quite enough of this conversation for the day, so she changed the subject by resuming what she and Scott had started before Amy interrupted them.

**oxOxo**

Amy snuck into her house and flew up the steps and into the bathroom, before anyone had a chance to lay eyes on her. Taking three steps at a time was a motion that the muscle memory in her calves had taken notice of – it seemed that she made the same mad-dash to her bedroom every weekend. Of course, that was an exaggeration. But Amy liked to think that it wasn't.

As she turned the taps to her shower, her mind became filled with thoughts of the elusive and mysterious Derek Hale. Sure, he was attractive, but that was about all she knew about him. That, and he wasn't very friendly. And his car smelled like pine trees… Okay, so maybe she knew a little more than that.

Truth be told, Derek was borderline notorious in the town of Beacon Hills. Back when he was still in high school, his house had burned down and a bunch of his family members were killed. The official police report had the fire listed as an accident, but it seemed odd that a well-maintained family home would just spontaneously combust in the middle of the day. But no arrests were ever made – and after that, Derek disappeared to the East Coast, presumably to get a college education (but more likely to escape the tragedy). It wasn't until his sister was killed in a car crash one night that he returned to Beacon Hills.

And it was a well-known fact that he had had a… _rough_ past. Particularly in regards to the law. Just a year earlier, he had been arrested for breaking into the high school and killing a janitor – he had a short stint in prison, but they released him on the grounds of insufficient evidence.

Cue Stiles, who was caught riffling through police files in an ill-fated attempt to clear Derek's name. And that brought them to the present – Stiles' dad was out of a job, but Derek was out of jail. The boys considered it a draw.

As it turned out, it was actually Derek's _uncle _who had broken into the high school and Derek had gone to try to stop him. Stiles only tried to help him because he was the one who had gotten him into trouble in the first place by accusing him of the crime.

Currently, he lived in the restored version of his home with his cousin, Isaac Lahey; his mother had been Derek's father's sister. Isaac was one of their classmates at BHHS – his parents had perished in the fire, too.

But Derek as a person and not a hallway rumor was still a complete enigma to most people. He still wasn't exactly Beacon Hill's most upstanding citizen, even if he hadn't committed any crimes. People talked. They talked about his family, and how his life had been positively fraught with death.

His murderous uncle, Peter Hale, had been in that fire, too, and his disfiguring burns and PTSD drove him to insanity.

They said mental illness was hereditary, but Amy refused to believe it. Poor Derek was just misunderstood.

**oxOxo**

An hour later, she was dressed and ready for the day. Upon entering her kitchen, she was met with a rare sight: her gangly little brother, Ian, poring over a plate of pancakes. For a brief moment, he almost seemed normal. But then he spoke: "How was the party?"

Amy cringed visibly and snapped her head around in search of their parents. "What are you saying?" she hissed in panic. She didn't know at what point she had stopped questioning how he knew these things, but his apparent omnipresence still irked her to no end.

"Isn't it obvious? You snuck into the house at like seven this morning. Normally you're not awake until noon."

"Shut up, shut up, shut_ up_!"

"I'm just stating a fact."

She swung herself into the chair across from him and forked some food onto her plate. In a very unladylike fashion, she began shoveling in the syrupy goodness.

"So, where are Mom and Dad?" she questioned.

"Mom's at her yoga class and Dad's at the office."

"On a Saturday?"

Ian shrugged. It wasn't uncommon for their father to remain at work until late at night, so she shouldn't have been surprised that he was at there during the weekend. She tried to understand, she did. He was a big fancy branch manager, now, and he didn't have time for them. And to be brutally honest, she didn't care much. But she knew that her mom and Ian did – they missed him.

"Any plans today? Gonna hang out with your friends? Oh wait…"

"Funny. No, I have homework."

"It's Saturday."

"Problem?" he countered with a cocked eyebrow. "Harvard doesn't care what day of the week it is."

"It's spring break."

He merely gave her a bored stare.

"Please, you're a freshman," she dismissed, "If there was ever a time to slack off, it'd be now," she advised pointedly.

"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" he quipped.

Amy rolled her eyes. "I'll have you know that my grades are just fine – plus, I'm already into college. I'm just coasting from here on out, bro."

Ian scoffed at the blatant lack of creativity in her vocabulary and returned to his breakfast.

This verbal sparring was all well and good in small doses, but she was beginning to grow agitated. Her brother's sense of intellectual superiority breeched the line dividing stimulating and tiresome _very_ quickly. She stood from the table and flounced towards the door, car keys in hand. Allison was surely still with Scott, so off to Stiles' it was…

* * *

**Author's Note: Please, _please_ let me know what you think! I changed a ton of stuff and at this point I think it's safe to say that I'm just screwing around with the characters lol. I just love all their personalities and I think this is the closest I'm going to get to writing an actual book, so yeah. **

**I made Isaac Derek's cousin because I couldn't think of any other way to have them interact with one another like the do in the show, and the fact that Isaac is an orphan too makes him an obvious choice to be related to Derek. The stuff about Peter and Kate and co. will be fleshed out later, don't you worry! Ummm yeah I'm going to try to manage a bigger cast of characters in this than I did with Fast Times, so let me know who you would like to see. Also do you want to see some sort of story arc for Ian, or no? I'm thinking Erica will be a big player. Please review and let me know! Thanks for reading :-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Hey-o, thanks for all the reviews, my friends. I really appreciate it! Hope you all like this chapter!**

**Song for the chapter: Call Me Maybe by Carly Rae Jepsen (LOL you'll see why, don't kill me).  
**

* * *

**Call Me Maybe**

When Amy reached Stiles' front step, she was faced with the former Sheriff Stilinski. For some reason unbeknownst to all of them, she could never stop herself from smiling guiltily whenever she saw him. Perhaps it was just habit – he had certainly found her in a number of compromising positions in the past, most notably with her head hung over the toilet. The fact that he had never snitched to her parents made her like him immensely, despite what it might have seemed.

"Hiya there, Papa Stilinski," she chirped insolently.

"Hello, Amy," he greeted in turn.

"Stiles around?"

"Yeah, he's in his room – go on up. But the door stays open."

"Of course!" she exclaimed, clutching her hand to her chest as if the notion were dreadfully scandalizing. The older man shook his head at her incorrigibility, before meandering back into the kitchen.

She genuinely didn't understand why he didn't trust them – neither had ever given him reason not to (in _that_ respect, anyway. In other respects... Well, that was a different story). But she ultimately chalked it up to the fact that he considered them nothing more than two hormonal teenagers who couldn't be holed up together for any extended period of time without something sexual transpiring. _Ridiculous_.

Stiles was at his computer. "Amelia," he said without ever tearing his eyes from the luminous screen.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Seeing as Allison's parents are away for the weekend, I've resigned myself to the fact that Lydia's party last night was the only time I'm going to see Scott in the next few days."

"A keen observation," she stated solemnly. "I've come to the same conclusion regarding Allison."

"So, what's up?"

"I need advice."

"Oh god."

"Be serious! This is important!"

"Could it have to do with… Oh, I don't know… Derek?"

"I got his number."

"You _what_?"

"You heard me. I got his number. Please, hold your applause."

To be fair, Stiles' mouth was ajar and he looked completely flabbergasted. Speechless, even. Finally: "Dude, I just – I can't. _How_?"

"I forgot my phone in his car and when he handed it back to me his number was on it," she said matter-of-factly.

"Huh."

"_Try_ to be a little more helpful," she complained.

"Sorry, I'm just still… processing. Okay, uh, well, have you texted him or anything?"

"No, not yet."

"Hm. Okay. Are you going to?"

"Why do you think I came here? I don't know _what_ to do, and seeing as you know him better than I do, I thought I'd see what you have to say! But obviously you're just as lost as I am…"

"No, okay, okay, I'm thinking. Well, Derek seems like the type who'd prefer a girl to play hard-to-get…"

"Yeah that's what I thought too, but then it dawned on me that if both of us are antisocial this will go nowhere. _Soooo_…"

"Yeah, you're probably right... Well, just text him, then."

"But what should I say?" she demanded as if it were the most pressing question in the universe.

"Hey, I just met you –"

"No!" Amy roared in a desperate attempt to drown him out. "Don't even. Just stop."

"And this is crazy – "

"No."

"But here's my number – "

"NO!"

Stiles descended into a fit of snickers at her expense as she stared at her phone peevishly. "You're useless," she lamented. "How about: 'thanks for the ride last night, maybe I'll run into you soon'?"

"Sounds fine to me," he dismissed. "Thanks for the 'ride'? Oh, I bet it was one hell of a _ride_…"

"Be mature."

"Like he's not going to think the same thing…" he snorted.

After she sent the text, he started, "So, Lydia…"

Now it was Amy's turn to snort. "I'm not a miracle worker."

A wave of indignation overtook his features – she made note of the look, for it wasn't one that Stiles wore often. With a sheepish grin, Amy assured him, "Okay, okay, I'll see what I can do! I'm not making any promises..." It _was_ part of their agreement, after all…

He slunk down in his chair, now more relaxed.

"But I'm warning you, she's not over Jackson," was the caveat. Her eyes roamed over him, sizing him up almost pityingly. Jackson, Stiles, Jackson, Stiles? It wasn't too difficult of a choice for most girls. That didn't mean, of course, that Amy would choose Jackson over Stiles – she just recognized that there _were_ a great many girls who would. However, such thoughts were meaningless because Amy's heart belonged to another, and he happened to be six feet of pure, unadulterated sex appeal (hint: his name began with a D and ended with a K). "Just don't get your hopes up," she said more gently.

Stiles deflated a bit, but nevertheless replied, "I've been waiting for her since third grade, a few more years is nothing. I'll wait. However long it takes for her to figure out that Jackson is an asshole, I'll wait."

"I don't think it's that she hasn't realized," Amy said pensively, "I think it's that she just doesn't care."

He shot her a warning glare. "You know what I mean."

"There's no one else that you're interested in?"

He shook his head 'no.'

"What about Erica? I heard she likes you…"

Stiles' dark eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Erica?"

"Yeah, the blonde girl. She's in our Bio class."

"Oh I know who she is…" he said appreciatively.

Amy resisted the urge to roll her eyes. To be sure, most of the male population knew _exactly_ who Erica Reyes was. She was a new commodity, someone who had just appeared on their radar. Because the truth of the matter was, Erica had always been somewhat of an ugly duckling – at least that's what Allison and Lydia had told Amy. But, over the summer, she had undergone an enormous transformation – i.e. her skin cleared up, she got her braces off, lost a bunch of weight, and found a sense of style. After a brief fling with Isaac Lahey, she was now one of the most sought-after girls at Beacon Hills High.

But Stiles only had eyes for Lydia, or so she had thought.

"You'd be into that?" she questioned in disbelief.

"No," he scoffed, "I'm just saying, I know who she is. Plus, I doubt she has any interest in me. I don't know where you heard that."

Where _had_ she heard that? There were really only two options: Allison or Lydia.

"So I take it you still want me to talk to Lydia for you, then?"

"Duh."

"Ugh, fine."

Just then, her phone buzzed against her thigh. With unbridled enthusiasm, she flipped it over to read the screen. It was Derek. All it said was, _maybe_. She felt her heart drop into the pit of her stomach, disappointment clouding her mind like a fever.

"Who is it?"

"Derek."

"What'd he say?"

"'Maybe'."

"That's it?"

"Yeah…"

He winced compassionately and said, "Well, you gave it your best shot."

Her pretty eyes implored him. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he questioned mistrustfully.

Nothing.

"There's nothing _I _can do."

Still, nothing.

"Stop it! You want my help? Fine." Before she could protest, he ripped the phone from her hand and started composing a florid love-note.

"What are you writing?" she demanded in panic. This was not at all the sort of help she'd had in mind. She tried with all her might to retrieve her phone, but Stiles was too tall.

"Oh, you'll see…" was his ominous response. She very nearly expected him to start cackling manically. "Done," he finally said, tossing the phone back to its rightful owner.

_Call me maybe?_ appeared in the green word bubble.

"You bastard!"

Through his laughter, Stiles countered, "He probably won't even get it."

"Ohhh myyyy godddd. What is wrong with youuu," she whined.

Derek's next text came moments later, and it didn't even address what Stiles had written – he wrote, _I'll be at the lacrosse game on friday_. Friday. That was a week away. But. He said he would be there. As in, _she_ should also be there. Which meant. It was like a date. Kind of.

At the sight of Amy's jaw dropping, Stiles repossessed the phone.

"Ha! It actually worked! You owe me big time."

"Okay." She knew when she was beat. "I'll talk to Lydia when I see her."

**oxOxo**

Amy returned home at approximately four p.m. She was met with the customary sight of her mother preparing dinner whilst her father attended to some sort of business-y thing on his iPad. Ian was there, too, sitting in silence.

"Where have you been all day?" the blonde asked, briefly looking up from her wooden cutting board.

"Stiles'."

Her father made a face. "He's just a friend," she insisted, "Calm down."

"Amy couldn't get a boyfriend, even if she tried," Ian assisted. Oh, how she could always count on him to come to her aid…

"I don't understand why you have to spend so much time with that boy," her mother chided, "Why can't you just have a day with Allison?"

"Because unlike me, Allison _does_ have a boyfriend."

"Kids your age shouldn't be dating," her father interjected disparagingly without looking up. "You're too young."

"Dad, I'm eighteen. You can't keep me locked away forever."

"I can try," he retorted, only half-joking.

Amy huffed as she sat down between the two male Bells. "You know, someday the time will come…"

"That's enough of that," her mother waved her off.

Her parents still thought of her as a little girl. It was a common mistake of their ilk, this she recognized. _If only they knew the truth… _But they would never know. They _could_ never know.

Amy was careful to cover her tracks, and Ian had yet to betray her in such a momentous fashion. To tell the truth, she often wondered why he guarded her secrets. He didn't particularly like her, at least not from what she could tell. She suspected it had something to do with keeping their family together – because without a support group of friends, this was all he had. She almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

"So what did you do today, douchebag?"

"_Amy!_" Mrs. Bell's tone betrayed that she was positively appalled by her daughter's language; conversely, Mr. Bell's smirk betrayed his amusement. Amy beamed at her dad, while Ian looked none too offended.

"I already told you. Homework."

Amy always maintained that the rift between the Bell siblings had started the moment her brother developed verbal faculties, but this wasn't quite right. The rivalry – one that stretched far beyond normal – could be traced back to a singular instance nearly a decade in the past: when Amy had smashed his Gameboy Color against the pavement, shattering it to pieces, over the last piece of chocolate cake. Ian had never forgiven her. The grudge hadn't wavered, even if the memory of why it ever existed had.

"You know, your brother has his priorities straight," their mother continued to nag, "I can't say the same for you."

"Spare me. I'm already into college."

"School starts up again in a couple of days," their father pointed out, "you really should start focusing on getting what you need to do in order. You don't want UCLA to rescind their acceptance."

"We both know that they almost _never_ do that. You really have to eff up."

"_Amy!_"

"Sorry. But it's true!"

"I don't know when you became such a handful," she murmured ruefully. "You used to be such a meek girl. What happened?"

"I grew up."

"You're hardly an adult," her father snorted.

"Yeah, whatever. I'm outta here in a few more months!"

"Don't sound so down about it," he retorted sardonically.

She batted her lashes cheekily at him as she stood to get a bottle of water out of the fridge. "I'm going for a run," she announced, "I'll be back before dinner."

**oxOxo**

It wasn't until school on Monday that Amy finally got the opportunity to talk to Lydia. The redhead always seemed to be on some sort of mission, striding through the hallways as if her time were priceless (time is money, as they say…).

"Hey Lydia, can I talk to you for a sec?"

"About what?"

"Er – just about your party – it was great by the way." Amy figured a nice ego stroking would be the key to implementing this scheme.

"I'm listening."

"Well, I saw you talking to Jackson… What's going on with that?"

"I'm surprised you remember," and she _did_ seem genuinely surprised, "But I don't think that's any of your business."

"Oh c'mon! We're friends! Friends are supposed to talk about guys together, it's practically written in the handbook," she joked nervously. Something about Lydia made her feel inferior. Maybe it was her ethereal beauty, or perhaps it was her genius-level intellect. Whatever the reason, she couldn't help but squirm in her presence.

The other girl finally stopped in front of her locker and said, "Look, if you really want to know, he's off limits to the likes of _you_."

"Uh, that's not what I meant at all…"

"Then what did you mean?" In one perfect motion, she flipped her radiant tresses over her left shoulder. Amy bit her lip anxiously.

"Are you guys, you know, like, a thing again?"

She blinked quickly, retreating behind her vacuous façade in a flash. "I guess you could say that."

"So you're not looking for another guy?"

"No." She narrowed her olive eyes. "_Why_?"

"Heh, no reason," she stammered, "It's just that – well, I think you already know this – but Stiles really likes you and maybe you should give him a shot…"

She pursed her plump, cherry-red lips and stared at the space above Amy's head contemplatively. "No," she annunciated. And then all at once she was off to bigger and better things.

Amy remained, stunned. _It's a no go with Lydia, sorry dude_, was her text to Stiles. She felt bad for a moment, but soon remembered that she would be seeing Derek Hale's otherworldly face in a matter of days; not to mention his _biceps_… Her sympathy for her friend dissolved into the background...

Lydia Martin continues onward towards class, and somewhere in her mind – between the self-contained BMI chart that she updates every hour, the inability to recall the _exact_ amount of methanol in a Molotov's cocktail, and the slight doubtfulness regarding whether or not she fed Prada that morning – a flashback sprouts up.

"_You came." The observation becomes a question upon hitting the air. Lydia curses him to the deepest depths of hell for making her weak._

_Unfazed, Jackson counters, "Why wouldn't I?"_

"_Because we're not together anymore. You made it clear that you didn't want anything to do with me." _'I'm dropping the dead weight.' _Her. She was the dead weight. Only Jackson could manage to mention weight – the only thing that haunted her as much as, well, him – while breaking up with her._

"_That was last year. Don't tell me you're not over it?" The condescension in his tone is biting. "You're _not. _Oh Lydia, babe, it's time to move on."_

_And he's gone. _

_But she watches him. She watches him suck down six beers in ten minutes and soon she's brought out the key to her bedroom, the key that she didn't think she would use but had worn around her neck just in case. He's drunk, he's barely coherent, but Lydia is a firm believer in that most sacred proverb: "Drunken words are sober thoughts."_

_This has happened before._

_They have come back to each other, whether it be for hate-sex or just to relieve some stress. Late at night when no one's around, he comes back to her. _

"_I miss you," he whispers, his arms around her waist. He's completely plastered, shitfaced, drunk off his ass, but she doesn't _care_ because she misses him, too. _

_It's a moment that he'll either forget in the morning or pretend to forget in the morning, but again, she doesn't care. She knows it's different this time._

* * *

**Author's Note: Sooooo guys, please review. The stuff I changed will make more sense as time goes on, trust me. Let me know what you thought of everyone's characterizations! Thanks for reading! Also, I know I listed this under humor, but there are definitely going to be some not-humorous parts...  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Thank you so much to all the reviewers! I hope you all like this chapter!**

**Song for the chapter: Beyond Monday by The Glitch Mob**

* * *

**Beyond Monday**

Amy found it shameful to admit how excited she was for the upcoming lacrosse match. At home, she counted the hours until she went to school. At school, she counted the hours until she went home. And just like that, the week flew by in a haze consisting only of Facebook chats and Calculus worksheets.

One thing she _had_ noticed, though, was Stiles' peculiar attitude in Biology class – namely, his peculiar attitude around _Erica_.

At first, the girl in question didn't seem to know quite how to react. The conversations started like so:

"Hey Erica, how's it going?"

"Why are you talking to me?"

"I don't know, I talk to everyone."

"Not me. Not normally."

And that was that. Amy and Scott expressed their mutual confusion in one simple, identical look, with crossed eyebrows and pursed lips.

"What?" Stiles hissed. "I'm trying to be nice!"

The brunette bit back the urge to scoff. It was undeniable: their goofball friend was smitten. And she was to blame – she had been the one to put the idea into his head.

"Do you know anything about _that_?" Scott asked her in class on Friday morning. Stiles was once again chatting quietly to the busty Miss Reyes, a habit he had developed some four days prior.

"Mr. McCall, no talking in my class!" their teacher, Miss Hazeltine, reprimanded.

"Sorry," he grumbled.

"Yeah, it's my fault," Amy whispered back.

A wary glance from their bespectacled instructor assured them that they would have to continue this conversation at a later time if they were to avoid detention.

But all throughout class, Amy's mind was elsewhere. Erica Reyes wasn't a good girl. Not like Allison was, not like she was (Ha! Outwardly, anyway). Some said Erica was trying to rival Lydia for BHHS's queen-bee title. That remained to be seen, but one thing was certain: Erica had reinvented herself at the start of the year, and she had gained more than just Isaac Lahey's notice.

Amy's mentioning her to Stiles had been a flippant, last-stand attempt to get him to forget about Lydia. She hadn't meant for him to take her seriously. Girls like Erica ate boys like Stiles alive. Girls like Erica gave douchebags like Jimmy Greenberg hand-jobs behind the bleachers and boys like Stiles jerked off to Marvel Internet porn. (The thought of both these things made Amy's delicate mind scream _NO. _Although only the Jimmy Greenberg incident was a confirmed fact - as much as such gossip could be confirmed, anyway).

It wasn't a lie that Lydia had told her about Erica's crush on Stiles – but that was _before_. This was now. Things had changed.

The sight of Erica sitting on a lab bench, clad in a tight leather skit and a cleavage-bearing tank top, talking to _Stiles_ was almost humorous. As Jackson might say, she was way too much woman for him to handle. Or so it seemed.

"You did that?" Scott whispered to Amy. He sounded more impressed than surprised.

"Well, no. But I told him that she had a crush on him."

"Does she?" The disbelief in his tone was so inadvertently insulting that Amy had to repress a bark of laughter.

"I don't know. She _did_."

"How long ago?"

"Like, last year. That's what Lydia told me, at least."

"Oh."

"Hey, it doesn't look that bad, actually." And it was the truth. Erica's hungry dark eyes roamed over Stiles' relaxed frame as she chewed a piece of bubblegum methodically. There was a certain spark.

And Amy did have to admit, Stiles had a _je ne sais quoi _thing going on_._

"What do you think they're talking about?" he questioned.

"I have no clue." The bell drew Scott and Amy out of their National Geographic-esque observations.

_Rewind_. Scott and Amy are in the doorway, watching the pair from a distance that they think is safe. Stiles can see them perfectly well.

"So, you going to the game tonight?" he asks.

"Isn't everyone?" she purrs.

Stiles once read in a science journal that women with high-pitched voices were considered to be more attractive to the male species. He could say right then, with the utmost confidence, that such an assessment was grossly incorrect.

"I don't know, probably," he says because his mouth is dry and suddenly, for the first time in his life, he can't think of anything else to say.

Her pink tongue darts out for a millisecond as she shifts against the lab bench. The two motions in unison cause a sudden spike in Stiles' body temperature and he swears by the look in her eye – and he doesn't know how – that she can detect it.

"Do you think you'll play?" she baits. She expects him to be offended by the slight, but his sense of humor remains wholly intact.

"Probably not. Why start now, right?" he laughs nervously.

Now it's her turn to be at a loss for words; she's not used to talking to people who care about things other than making frontline. She wants to end the conversation before she has the chance to ruin the illusion of self-assurance. "Look, I'll see you 'round."

A catlike smirk is all she's willing to give him as she walks – no, _struts_ – away, but god-knows he'll take it. The bell sounds and the exchange is over. He is left with an inexplicable sense of accomplishment, but doesn't yet know why.

_Fast forward_.

"Dude, what was that?"

"What? I was just talking to her. I do have other friends, y'know."

"Yeah, but Erica doesn't just _talk_."

Stiles didn't know quite how to respond to this, so he just shrugged. Truth be told, he didn't want to just talk; but for the moment, that didn't matter. He saw Lydia and Jackson making out against the lockers and swallowed his heartache. He had a right to distract himself, and fantasies of sultry redheads were soon replaced with fantasies of curly-haired blondes. It's then that he refers to her – mentally, at least – as a redhead for the first time. Redhead. Not strawberry-blonde. Because those details aren't important to him, not anymore. It's not fair that she gets to live her life as he sits by and suffers.

**oxOxo**

"Why do you look like you're about to have a nervous breakdown?" Allison deadpanned as they sat shoulder-to-shoulder on the bleachers.

"Derek Hale is supposed to be here," Amy replied with a fidget.

"You know, you keep referring to him by first and last name like he's a celebrity or something. It's kinda strange."

Amy thought about this for a moment, mainly because it was a very correct and very insightful comment. But her analytical skills were shot from her AP English discussion of _The Sound and the Fury_, so she asked, "What are you getting at?"

She was met with a guilty shrug. "Don't put the penis on a pedestal is all I'm saying…"

"_Allison_!" She sounded disturbingly like her mother, but she didn't care. The prim brunette almost never used such crude language and, naturally, Amy was positively overflowing with pride.

The players filtered onto the field like gladiators, the blinding lights making their gear shine like armor. Scott and Jackson, the co-captains, led the pack. Stiles appeared behind them and took his customary seat at the end of the bench. But this was all just a blur to Amy. A blur of faces she recognized, a blur of her friends' faces, but a blur nonetheless.

It was twenty seconds in when she spotted Derek. He was standing, not sitting (no, of course not sitting, Derek Hale didn't merely _sit_, like some common plebian), some ten feet away from her. That tricky and persistent anxiety, inseparable from teenage puppy love, cropped up, but Amy squelched it and shimmied off of the bleachers.

"Hey," she greeted as she approached his statuesque form.

A fleeting sidelong glance, and nothing more. "Hey."

"So, are you here to watch Isaac play?"

"Yeah."

She nodded and looked at her feet, completely unable to fill the lull in conversation. She scrambled for words and eventually scrounged together, "Sooo, about the other night…"

"I get it, you were drunk."

"Well, yeah, but I mean, I wanted to thank you…"

"Yeah, you made that pretty clear." Oh, and there it was! If you listened really, _really_ hard, you could detect the faintest trace of playfulness in his tone. But it was gone in an instant.

Amy decided to go against her instinct to be embarrassed and instead just rolled with it. "Yeah... And you know, that offer still stands…"

And for the first time since the commencement of the conversation, Derek actually _looked_ at her. With scruffy black eyebrows raised, because he hadn't anticipated such a forward response from the decidedly _sober_ teenager.

Eventually: "Why don't you go pick on someone your own age, kid." The school was filled with attractive guys her own age. Why did she have to set her sights on him, of all people?

Amy scowled and replied, "I'm not a kid." _LET ME PROVE IT TO YOU_, her mind begged. "And I know how that sounds, but trust me, I'm not a kid – and if it makes any difference, Stiles was the one who sent that 'call me maybe' text, not me."

A smirk tried to lift the corners of his mouth, but was unsuccessful; his expression remained stony as ever. "What is it you want from me, exactly?"

There were so many dirty responses she could come up with that it was just too easy. She decided to take the vague approach: "I could think of a few things…"

Without missing a beat, he countered, "Did you just come down here to sexually harass me, or…?"

She gave him a toothy grin and said, "You know what will shut me up?"

"I don't want to know."

"Oh, but I'll tell you – "

"Really, I don't want to know."

"A date."

"A _date_?" The word seemed to disgust him, but Amy was undeterred.

"Yeah. Just one."

"_Why_ would I agree to this?"

"Because if I can't win you over after just one date, I promise to leave you alone."

Derek scoffed. "You might not have realized this, but I'm not very easily won-over."

"I can be pretty _persuasive_."

"God, you just don't stop, do you? No wonder you and Stiles are friends…"

"One. Date."

Derek didn't know why he allowed the response to leave his lips, he really didn't. Perhaps it was just his morbid sense of curiosity, or perhaps it was because she looked like she might molest him in front of hundreds of people if he refused. "_Fine_," he grit out. "Tomorrow. Eight o'clock. Now run along and leave me alone."

Inside, she exploded. If she had been so inclined, she might have said she'd jizzed her pants. But she was the picture of maturity, obviously, so such lewd thoughts would never cross her mind.

Externally, she used ever shred of willpower she had to remain calm. "Cool. You won't regret it." And she was off in a flurry of batted lashes and brown hair. Derek had no idea what he had gotten himself into, but he had at least given himself a day to prepare.

"I'm going. On. A. DATE. With Derek – fucking – Hale," she announced to Allison and Lydia moments later. The sentence, due to her odd punctuation, came out choppy and borderline incoherent.

"_You_?" was all Lydia could manage.

"Don't sound so surprised," she answered wryly.

"Still using his full name, I see," Allison quipped. "When?"

"Tomorrow at eight."

"What are you doing?"

"I have no idea, but do you honestly think it _matters_?"

She finally got a laugh out of them and Allison replied, "Apparently not…"

"All I need is a room and a bed – no, you know what? Scratch that – a _room_…"

"Ooookay, TMI," Lydia cut her off. "But seriously, I honestly do hope you get laid. For all our sakes. There's way too much sexual frustration going on here."

And truer words had never been spoken.

* * *

**Author's Note: Please review, guys! Let me know what you would like to see! Isaac will be coming up soon, don't worry! Thanks for reading :-)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Hey guys! Sorry for taking my sweet ass time with this one, I was on vacation. My sincerest apologies! I made this super extra long (but not just long) so you'd forgive me ;-)**

**Also if you're looking for timeline accuracy with the show in this story, you're going to be deeply disappointed. I tried to keep it vaguely similar (PS I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YEAR IT IS IN THE SHOW, 2011 MAYBS?), but I don't get along with numbers and the show confuses me sometimes with its dates. **

**Song for the chapter: Stars by The XX (doesn't really fit the mood, but I love it and I like it for Derek and Amy). **

* * *

**I Can Draw The Line On The First Date**

The astrologically inclined amongst you might be interested to know that Saturday, March 31st, 2012 set the stage for a celestial event of cyclical magnitude. In layman's terms: it was a full moon.

Like the Earth and the moon, each rotating on their own separate-but-connected orbits, two friends entered parallel circumstances. Amy had procured a date with Derek – that one was obvious. But Stiles, uncharacteristically sly, had gotten himself a date as well. With Erica.

This coincidence only revealed itself suddenly, in the midst of a horde of drunken lax-bros, at the lacrosse after-party at Jackson's house (house, estate, _mansion_, whatever you wanted to call it). Amy was only there because Allison was there, and Allison was only there because Lydia was there. And Lydia was there because she was, once again, the other half of Beacon Hills High's royal couple.

Stiles was there because he was on the team (and he had actually _played_ – and scored a goal, no less!), and Erica was there because she was well-acquainted with a large portion of the team (_not_ Stiles, though, mind you).

Amy didn't want to be hung over for her date with Derek the next day, so Stiles was down a drinking buddy. Scott, however, who had also been influential in winning the match, was happy to act as a stand-in.

And thus began the night…

While Scott is occupied doing keg-stands, Allison remains – with Amy – in the kitchen, her emotional spectrum caught somewhere between amused and embarrassed. Stiles clamors in, completely, utterly, and undeniably white-girl-wasted.

"Amyyyyy, Allisonnnnn, my friends! How are you on this fine evening of VICTORY?" he questions.

"Not as good as you are, Stiles, not as good as you are," Allison manages through her snickers.

"True enough," he continues, bleary-eyed, "I am having quite an excellent night, if I do say so myself."

"Yes, you did well in the game," Allison humors him.

"Not just that! Guess what!"

Amy knows she will regret asking, but this knowledge does not deter her in the least. "What?"

"I have a date tomorrow night."

Several amused, snapback-wearing athletes begin to take notice of Stiles' tale, so Amy shushes him. "With who?" she hisses. "Shocked" wasn't even the right word – astounded – _disbelieving_, even, would be more appropriate.

"Erica," he states, brimming with pride. "Asked 'er out just a second ago."

"I bet you did…" Amy mutters under her breath. Why does she sound harsh? She shouldn't sound harsh. She should be supportive. But somehow Drunk!Stiles is wearing thin on her sober patience.

Allison laughs and Stiles looks offended. "What'd you say?" he demands.

"Nothing, Stiles, nothing," Allison covers, "We're both very happy for you. Right, Amy?"

"Yes, very happy." For some strange and foreign reason, she feels the irrepressible urge to tell him about _her_ date with Derek. But she doesn't want him to blurt it out to the entire senior class, so she keeps quiet.

But then his eyes narrow. She knows what he's going to say, it's inescapable. "Why aren't you drinking?" he asks accusatorily.

"Because I don't want to," she answers nonchalantly. Allison shoots her a puzzled look, but, luckily, it escapes Stiles' notice. The way she had put it earlier was, "Because tomorrow is the most important night of my life and I need to be at the top of my game!"

"_You_?" He doesn't believe it. "_You_ don't want to drink? You've gotta be kidding me. Seriously, why?"

She's only slightly offended by the fact that he apparently considers her an alcoholic, but the expression she wears begs to differ. "You think there has to be a reason? C'mon, dude, not cool!"

"Amy, I know you better than y'know yourself," he slurs. It may or may not be true, but he doesn't sound very convincing in his inebriated state.

She chews her lip – a nervous habit that she tries to avoid, but oftentimes does subconsciously – and answers, "You have to be quiet." Her eyes scan the chaos in search of Isaac; he doesn't seem to be in the kitchen.

"Quiet? Of course I can be quiet!" Aaand the lax-bros are looking over again.

"SHUSH. I have a date with Derek tomorrow. Don't repeat what I just said."

"You – you – what? You _do_?" He's flailing at this point, and Amy sets aside her terror that he will announce this fact to the entire party in order to laugh. He spills his beer all down his shirt and curses under his breath.

"Yes. So there."

"Well, that's as good a reason as any, I suppose." But his eyes are mocking her and she questions herself. _What? I'm not attached to Derek_. _I'm not getting my hopes up, only to be crushed_. _I'm just making sure that I'll be in the best state to make good on my offer to persuade him_. She doesn't convince herself any better than she's convinced anyone else.

**oxOxo**

The previously mentioned full moon was visible while the sun still hung low in the sky against a palette of pinks and oranges. Amy didn't notice it any more than she noticed the three unread texts on her phone; her complete focus was on her makeup, a work of art in itself. While she had never been particularly artistic in a traditional sense, blemishes brought on by puberty and the subsequent discovery of the realm of makeup opened a whole new venue for experimentation. She was now quite skilled at covering her blotchy complexion and making her face appear nearly flawless (save for a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, which she couldn't bring herself to cover up).

It was then that she turned her attention to her hair. She fluffed it in the mirror, but wrinkled her nose in distaste. It was prone to falling flat. A few pumps of mousse and a quick blow-dry remedied the problem, and she was then able to move on to her outfit.

This was the trickiest part.

She wasn't entirely sure what she and Derek were going to be doing (she had many different hopes, _obviously_, but the pretense of an actual date was to be expected). Even worse, she didn't know if _she_ was supposed to have planned something, or if he was taking care of it.

Hence her dilemma – she eventually decided err on the side of "dressy casual," (the voice inside her head coaching her through all this sounded suspiciously like Lydia) which could take her through a number of different situations. She paired a pair of jean shorts with a black tank top, the "dressy" part coming in the form of a black and silver striped blazer. After spinning around in the mirror several times, she came to the conclusion that her efforts had been successful.

She bounded down the stairs and straight out the door, announcing, "I'm going to the movies with Allison and the gang," as she left. The door slamming behind her left her parents no room for protest.

When Derek's Camaro wasn't parked where he'd left her off the previous week (a safe three blocks from her house), a surge of panic shot through Amy's heart. What if he didn't show? It was entirely possible that he wouldn't – _probable, _even.

She waited for five of the longest minutes of her life. Doubt washed over her like a wave of nausea, to the point where she actually _felt _nauseas. She would be absolutely crushed if he didn't turn up.

However, eventually the sleek silhouette of the vehicle appeared on the horizon. Amy nearly leapt for joy.

When he pulled over, he offered neither an excuse nor an apology. Instead, his greeting was, "Thought I wouldn't show?" Her face must have betrayed her relief.

But Amy wasn't listening. No, she was much too preoccupied for that. She watched his every move, from the way he languidly slid the stick shift into park to the way he didn't even start to get out of the car. Everything about his demeanor was fluid, relaxed. One might have even said "cocky." Not at all how someone would normally be on a first date. Although, she supposed Derek wasn't normal. But she didn't fail to see his eyes rake over her as she wriggled into the car.

Her legs, she had often been told, were one of her best physical attributes. They were thin, but still shapely and tapered daintily at the ankle. This was why she'd chosen to wear short shorts. From the looks of things, Derek seemed to approve of the decision.

"So, what's the plan?" she asked brightly.

His expression was unreadable. "I would have thought that you'd come up with something incredibly "_persuasive_," as you put it," he said, his tone bone-dry. He gave no indication that he was joking.

"W-well, I mean, I have a couple of ideas," she stammered, suddenly lacking the confidence she'd had to ask him out in the first place, "But I-I wanted to see what you wanted to do f-first…"

Derek willed himself not to be swayed by her radical change in character as she sat stock-still, her creamy thighs contrasting beautifully against his black leather seats. He _almost_ let his terseness falter at the sight of her obvious vulnerability, but ultimately remained resolute. If he intimidated her so much, how had she mustered up the courage to sexually harass him a mere day earlier? Whether the bashfulness was an act or not, he refused to bend to it.

"Let's hear it, then," he ordered.

"W-what?"

"Your ideas," he clarified, "What are they?"

"Oh. Well, um, w-we could go to dinner, go to the movies…" she trailed off lamely. She hadn't really been very creative. "They're showing horror movies at the drive-in theater…"

"Let me guess," he drawled, "We're going to go to a horror movie and you're going to cozy up to me because it will be so '_scary_.'" His sounded completely disdainful of the prospect, but there was an unmistakable smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Emboldened by this show of amusement, Amy put on her own predatory smirk. "Was it really so obvious?" she teased.

"Completely transparent," he deadpanned.

Amy's heart fluttered in her throat because she realized suddenly that they were actually _flirting_! It was nothing short of a miracle.

"So, a movie?" she asked. "I'm a sucker for something cliché."

Derek turned his head towards the road and began to drive now that she was apparently back in her bawdy groove. "Fine. But if you're actually expecting what I just said, you'd best start back home before you're sorely disappointed," he ground out.

_I can't believe I'm doing this_, he thought to himself. And he really couldn't. Why had he agreed to this, again? Oh yeah – to shut her up. Suddenly the arrangement seemed doomed to fail. But it was just one night. He could afford to waste a few hours of his time, couldn't he? And he was still just a twenty-something year old guy – he couldn't deny that he had… needs. And Amy was strangely appealing. He shook these thoughts from his head. She was beautiful, but she was still just a kid. She might not have known better, but he did. The only question that remained was whether or not he cared. The line between right and wrong (or, rather, the desire to discern between them), after all these years, had become obscured.

After arriving at the drive-in theater, it soon became painfully clear that they were in one of only three or four cars. However, the fact that they were in a car in itself created the illusion that they were completely alone. Amy didn't know if she liked this or not, but Derek was certain that he didn't.

The films they were showing weren't modern. They had two options: The Exorcist or An American Werewolf In London. Completely ignorant of the irony in their choice, they opted for the latter.

Now, when Amy had said she thought she could charm Derek into liking her, she didn't know what had been going through her mind. She wasn't naturally very charismatic, and she didn't have a sound plan. Her primary initiative had been to look good, but she hadn't thought much beyond that. To be entirely honest, it was difficult to fabricate a scheme based on the minimal amount of data she had on Derek. His reputation for being biting, broody, and broken preceded him. She figured optimism with a healthy dose of sarcasm were the best approach to take personality-wise. It was likely he needed some cheerfulness in his life (though he would never admit it), and from their brief interactions, she could tell that he held a begrudging appreciation for her sense of humor (which, funny enough, was almost identical to Stiles').

He parked the car a safe distance from the others while Amy searched the radio for the right frequency.

"Have you seen this before?" she questioned in a hushed tone.

"No."

"Neither have I. My dad loves this movie, though."

Derek's dark eyebrows twitched ever so subtly and Amy mentally kicked herself for saying something so stupid. It was a horrible slip in every conceivable way. The last thing she needed to do was give him material to fuel the belief that she was too young for him.

"Sorry," she mumbled, her cheeks hot with embarrassment.

He turned to her slowly, his blue-green eyes glinting in the dancing light from the projector. Though he said nothing, this slight change in expression conveyed his amusement at her dismay.

"I didn't take you for the type to get nervous," he stated after a moment.

"Who said I was nervous?" she countered a little too quickly.

His smirk was fully distinguishable, now, and he replied, "C'mon, seriously? I'm not an idiot."

Amy sank further into the leather seat in a futile attempt to escape the situation. She was screwing up _big time_.

"I'm just going to stop talking…" she muttered.

He let out a bark of laughter – actual _laughter_ – and said, "Yeah, that might be a good idea."

She was so shocked that he'd actually demonstrated any sort of emotion that she nearly gawked at him. Sure, it was harsh and only lasted a moment, but it was better than nothing. Luckily, she was able to keep her composure.

In fact, she hardly said another word through the remainder of the movie because she didn't trust herself not to sound like a complete buffoon. Cinemas weren't great places for first dates because they allowed for minimal talking, and initially Amy had been worried that her idea would be a total bust. However, she was surprised to discover that she actually learned more about Derek through observation than she might have through talking to him. For instance, he was very aware of her reactions to things – if she cringed or chuckled at a scene, he would send her a sidelong glance. Conversely, he himself didn't react to anything that came on screen. Amy flinched multiple times, but he was impassive throughout.

Though she had already suspected this, it became exceedingly clear that Derek preferred not to talk; for this reason, the movie wasn't an entirely terrible choice. As far as hobbies went, Derek obviously took great pride in his car and the drive-in theater incorporated that. She hadn't been completely ignorant of his likes and dislikes in coming up with the idea.

By studying his behavior (rather intensely, she had to admit), Amy had come to the conclusion that Derek was far more expressive in his actions than in his words.

However, there was still one very large problem: for the life of her, she couldn't figure out what his opinion of her was. He either hated her or liked her and pretended to hate her. But she wasn't _that_ offensive. In all her time at Beacon Hills High, she'd managed not to make any legitimate enemies; she didn't see herself as particularly difficult to get along with. But then again, maybe tons of people hated her and she was just oblivious. And while it greatly displeased her to consider this, it certainly couldn't be ruled out…

The movie ended up being more entertaining than frightening on account of the dated special effects and (frankly) ridiculous premise.

When it was finished, Amy had the fretful suspicion that she'd failed in her task to woo Derek. Though the date hadn't been _bad_, exactly, she worried that it'd been rather unremarkable. Desperate to redeem herself, she suggested they grab a snack. Derek obliged despite the fact that it was late, mainly because he was hungry.

And soon they were seated in a sparsely populated restaurant. After having ordered their food, Amy attempted to start a conversation. "So, why did you decide to stay friends with Stiles?" she blurted out not-so-suavely.

"That's random," he bristled.

She blushed because, well, it was, and replied, "Sorry. But seriously, you guys don't seem to have that much in common." That was a gross understatement.

Derek shrugged. "I owe him one, I guess. He's annoying as hell, but he's not a total waste. What _I_ don't get," he continued, "is the point of all _this_."

"What do you mean?"

"This situation. I don't get it."

Amy remained uncomprehending, or not willing to comprehend. "You're going to have to elaborate."

"Your class has what, like a couple hundred people in it? Why couldn't you just pester one of them? You're _Isaac_'s age."

She bit her lip contemplatively. "Honestly? I find them all kind of boring. You're more… interesting." And by interesting, she really meant sexy.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay." He knew exactly what she was thinking. It was written on her face, it shined in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

"Are you and Isaac close?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Taken aback by the question, he replied, "What?"

"You and Isaac. Are you guys close?"

"… I guess. He's more like a younger brother than a cousin."

Amy nodded. She figured as much. "I have a younger brother," she said, "They're not all they're cracked up to be."

Derek smirked despite himself as he remembered Laura. Yes, he had given her hell when they were kids.

"He's a freshman," she continued, "The _worst_ age."

"Whatever your problem with him is, he'll grow out of it," he stated.

"I doubt it."

He sent her a _wait-and-see_ look, before taking a sip of his Corona and looking around the restaurant. He was bored.

"You lived in New York before, right?" she asked, lightly touching his hand to get his attention.

He flinched at he feeling of her soft fingers brushing against the top of his hand. _That's very, very interesting_, Amy thought. He'd been deliberately avoiding even bumping shoulders with her all night, and it was now glaringly obvious that he was making a point not to engage in any physical contact whatsoever, no matter how innocent. Though at first glance this realization seemed bad, it was actually quite promising – it meant he felt some sort of spark, just like she did.

"Yeah." Now, he seemed distracted. Amy was encouraged.

"How was that?"

Derek knew that guys – especially guys his age – weren't normally very observant. Many times, he pretended not to be in order to fit in, to do what was expected. But he'd have been lying if he'd said he didn't detect the change in the pitch of her voice. Her tone became husky, infinitely more seductive.

"Fine." One-word answers were his only defense.

"I want to live in the city. I'm going to LA for college – I can't wait to get out of this place."

He would never tell her, but he empathized. The only reason he was back in Beacon Hills was because Isaac didn't deserve to be alone, and he was his only remaining family. They were the lone survivors; it was his duty to make sure that tragedy didn't strike again. The mention of her impending matriculation made him feel slightly better about staring at her chest (not that she noticed. At least, he didn't think she did. But what could he do? He had eyes, and she was putting her cleavage on full display. He was no saint).

When they were finished, he paid (Amy, thankfully, remained calm) and the pair walked back to his car; Derek was still wary of even accidentally laying a finger on her and kept a significant distance. But little did he know, Amy was clever. He could try to resist her, but that didn't mean he would be successful. She had one last trick up her sleeve.

**oxOxo**

He drops her off where he picked her up.

"Thanks," she says simply, still in the car.

"Yeah." He isn't looking at her because he is well aware of what girls expect at the end of the night. And he has no intention of giving Amy what she so clearly desires. Averting his eyes seems like the safest option.

But suddenly, he's thrown through a loop. Amy's hand shoots out of nowhere and grips his chin, forcing him to turn towards her.

"I said, _thanks_," she drawls.

His heart beats _almost_ imperceptibly faster and he castigates himself. He can't help that he likes a woman to take charge, but right now he hates himself for it. "You're. Welcome," he annunciates through gritted teeth. He seems angry, but he isn't. He doesn't know what he is. _Yes you do_, part of his mind taunts, _You're turned on_.

_Shut up_, says the other.

By this point, Amy's very tuned into the fact that Derek finds her attractive. It's this precious knowledge alone that gives her the audacity to do what she does next.

Without any visible hesitation, she lurches forward and presses her lips to his, assaulting his mouth with her tongue. Before he has the chance to even consider responding, she's out the door. Her hips sway like a pendulum as she walks away. Derek, for the first time in a long while, doesn't utter a word not because he doesn't want to, but because he _can't_. He hasn't been speechless since Kate. _Fuck._

* * *

**Author's Note: LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, MY LOVES. The scene with Amy and Stiles where Amy doesn't want to drink is straight from life (I was Stiles lol). This may seem fast (it's only chapter 5! I hate myself for this! It took me like 20 chapters in Fast Times!), but remember that Derek doesn't really like her beyond the fact that he thinks she's hot ;-) Let me know if you hate this or not! Also I hope the switches in tense aren't making your eyes bleed! I wanted to try something new...**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: As always, thank you so much to all the reviewers! I can't tell you how much I appreciate the feedback! Also thank you to Silvereyed Queen for directing me to a great TW timeline!**

**I hope you all like this chapter, even though there's practically no Deramy. It's pretty much Sterica-centric (WHICH IS SO WEIRD FOR ME). I think this is the first chapter I've ever written for Teen Wolf where Amy doesn't appear at all (crayzayyy). There will probably be more chapters like this, but I'm not sure. The goal for this story is to have two parallel love stories kind of going on at the same time. Idk... it's not completely set to be like this, but it's a definite possibility.  
**

**Song for the chapter: Courtship Dating by Crystal Castles (alternatively, Mirror Error by The Faint for the parts with Erica).**

* * *

**Courtship Dating**

"Kate" was more than just a name for Derek. It was a dynasty. It was a reminder of the darkest period in his life.

He tried to repress all of it. Everything. The feelings. The memories. Everything that had made him weak. He wasn't weak anymore. The only thing he needed to remember was that emotions had ruined his life.

Being caught off guard was no longer something that happened to him, so, naturally, Amy's display was unsettling. He was never surprised, not anymore. _What did it mean?_ Nothing. It meant nothing. It was normal to be surprised by someone arbitrarily shoving her tongue down your throat at any given moment. He was surprised by her tenacity, impressed by it. That was all.

He didn't want to see her again. He didn't want to feel it again, to feel something again, _anything_ again, anything besides the emptiness that gnawed at his chest. He didn't want to show her the danger in starting something you couldn't finish. He didn't want to bite those rosebud lips, to run his hands all over those lithe legs, to strip her of those skimpy shorts, to knot his hand into those chestnut locks, to – he stopped himself. He didn't want to want any of it, but he did. If he allowed his mind to roam any further, _he_ might become acquainted with the meaning of starting something he couldn't finish.

He hated himself for being intrigued. He didn't think she had it in her to... do what she did. But he couldn't, he _couldn't_ give in. Things became so much more appealing once they were forbidden...

**oxOxo**

Erica stared at her reflection in the mirror, despising what she saw. People told her she was beautiful all the time. She saw the boys watch her as she walked down the hallways. She knew they talked about her in the locker room. But that didn't change the fact that on the inside, she was still every nasty nickname she had ever been called. She was still that chubby and pizza-faced little girl that everyone made fun of. No amount of exercise or ProActive could change that.

The fact that _Stiles_ had asked her out rattled her and sent her spiraling back into her pariah days. Of course he noticed her _now_, now that she was pretty and easy. She resented him for it, but that didn't change the fact that she still had a crush on him. "_Stiles is such a nice guy_," said everyone, said all the girls, said all the lacrosse players. No. No, he wasn't. Not to her. He was just like everyone else.

And then there was Isaac. Before it all, before the eyeliner and the anti-frizz hair products, he had been kind to her. However, their arrangement hadn't just been borne out of romance, but also out of a need for survival. High school was a perilous place, and their peers were cruel. By forming an alliance, the pair of misfits was able to raise their statuses in the social hierarchy.

Isaac was a strange case. He wasn't unpopular exactly, just quiet. But his family history had driven him to the outskirts of the social scene, and his uncle's arrest had brought on a wave of violent bullying.

The funny thing was, neither of them had been seeking popularity – mere acceptance would have been plenty. And true enough, Isaac hadn't been propelled to the state of infamy that Erica had. Isaac's only wish was to be left alone; he wanted the taunting and the beatings to stop, but that was all.

_It's the middle of the summer, and Erica is running errands at the grocery store. She turns the corner too fast and crashes into a tall, lean figure. Cans from her shopping cart tumble to the floor in loud clangs. The person she's run into – a boy who, at first glance, seems to be about her age – crouches down to help her clean up the mess._

"_I'm s-so sorry," she stammers wildly._

_He lifts his messy-haired head to look at her, and Erica soon recognizes him as Isaac Lahey, one of her classmates. _

"_No problem," he laughs softly. "You look familiar… Do you go to BH?"_

"_Y-yeah, I'm going to be a senior."_

_His brow furrows because it then becomes clear that he really should know who she is. He's slightly embarrassed, but soon it dawns on him. "You're Erica, right? Erica Reyes?"_

_Her chocolate eyes light up, surprised that he knows who she is. He wasn't much higher than she was on the social ladder, but still. She was a wallflower. Mostly just the girls make fun of her, but Jackson occasionally chimes in. Maybe the lacrosse team mocked of her when she wasn't around. She wouldn't be surprised._

"_Yeah. You're Isaac, right?"_

_He's not thrown that she knows him. Everyone knows him, especially after what his uncle did. After what happened to his family. He's a household name, just like his cousin. Derek managed to overshadow him in almost every way, but not this one. Neither had escaped the stigma of their uncle's sins and the tragedy that had befallen their family. "Yeah. You look… different," he comments._

_That's an understatement. She looks _hot_. The sunlight and summer fashions had been extraordinarily beneficial to her. _

_She blushes because, although she knows she looks different, she hasn't yet grown into her new body. She's still shy and self-conscious. "Thanks?"_

"_I-I mean it in a good way," he says quickly. "You look… good…" They both blush and he looks incredibly uncomfortable. Hastily dropping the fallen cans into her cart, he picks up his shopping basket and says, "I'll – uh – see you around."_

"_I'd – I'd like that," she replies, shocking herself with her boldness._

_Isaac pauses contemplatively. He would be a fool not to take this cue, and he knows it. "We should hang out some time," he suggests after a moment._

"_T-that'd be cool."_

"_Here," he digs through the pockets of his khaki shorts, "What's your number?" He hands her his phone and her delicate fingers tremble as she types it in._

_He gives her a crooked grin; his teeth are blindingly white. "See ya," he says as he heads off._

Her time with Isaac had been fun – transformative, even – but she wanted more. They had parted ways because she had a different agenda than he did, but they still remained friends. They owed each other everything they had accomplished in the past months and they knew one another better than anyone else. They were their only true friends.

Going on a date with Stiles was symbolic; it signified the final banishing of her insecurity. When she broke his heart, she could finally bury the ridiculing voices that haunted her.

**oxOxo**

Stiles didn't recall exactly _how_ he'd managed to ask Erica out, just that he'd done it. Alcohol truly was liquid courage.

He didn't have much experience with dates. He'd been on a couple, but they were usually in groups – he avoided solo ones because he wasn't very smooth and grew awkward rapidly when outside the comfort of his friend-circle.

He imagined that Erica had been on _many_ in the past school year. Probably way more than he'd been on in his entire life. But somehow, he wasn't worried. He didn't doubt that he was far different from any of the other guys she'd "_interacted_" with. And boy, did Stiles hope that the two of them would _"interact_." Lately, it seemed like everyone was getting some action except for him. Actually, now that he thought about it, it _always _seemed like everyone was getting some action except for him. The time had come to change that. Maybe he couldn't have Lydia. But he could still have fun.

He drove to Erica's at six-thirty. He parked his shoddy Jeep in her driveway and moseyed up to the front step, anxiously pressing his finger to the doorbell. Her mother answered; she was _really_ short, with mousy hair and a plump figure.

"You must be Stiles," she greeted in a fairy's voice that didn't at all suit her appearance. She beamed at him, nearly dragging his gawky form into the house with an iron grip on his bicep. When she released him, he rolled his shoulder in an attempt to shake off the sensation of his muscles being crushed. "Erica will be down in just a minute, honey," she told him, "You can take a seat in the living room, if you like."

Obedient as always, Stiles followed her instructions and sat on the sofa in front of Erica's father.

"Uh, Hey there, Mr. Reyes, how's it goin'?" he babbled, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt. "I'm Stiles. Stiles Stilinski."

"You're the sheriff's son, I take it?" he remarked. "I understand you're here to take out my daughter?"

"Er _yeahhh_… That's former sheriff, actually, but yeah…"

The elder man crinkled his nose in an obvious show of distaste. "Oh yes, that slipped my mind. I assume those prior transgressions are far, _far_ in the past, am I right?"

"Heh, of course," he laughed nervously.

"Have her back here by eleven, son," he said sternly.

"Sure thing, Mr. R."

Just then, the blonde goddess started down the staircase. Stiles willed himself not to gape, but he could do nothing to prevent his honey-colored eyes from glazing over at the sight. Her golden tresses caught the overhead lights, framing her lovely face like a halo.

"Oh my _god_," he muttered under his breath.

She smirked at his reaction, but refrained from saying anything inappropriate in the presence of her parents. "Ready to go?" she cooed.

He shot to his feet, his hands suddenly going clammy. "Yep," he stammered. She linked her arm through his, sending a rush of fire through his poor, hormonal body.

"See you later, Mom and Dad," she drawled.

Once outside the house, Stiles couldn't help but make up for lost time, letting his eyes soak in the view in the tragically dim streetlights. She was wearing a pair of black satin shorts and a v-neck tee, complete with leopard-print stilettos. He willed himself not to drool. Her accentuated chest was gloriously. She must have been wearing a push-up bra, which was both completely necessary and completely unnecessary.

"See something you like?" she teased.

"Huh? What? Oh yeah. Not just one thing, many things. Many, _many_ things…"

Erica bit her glossed lower lip and tried to prevent her cheeks from going pink. "We should probably get going."

"Wh-yeah. Yeah, you're right. Here –" he scrambled to open the passenger-side door for her. Peering at him through the thick black lashes that framed her doe-eyes, she gracefully stepped into the Jeep. He shut the door behind her and shuffled around to the other side. His hands were shaking as he turned the key in the ignition.

"So, where are we going?" she asked, sounding bored.

"I – uh – I thought we could go to dinner somewhere?"

"… Sounds fine."

He gulped. "Good, good," he mumbled. _God, what am I doing?_

When they were sitting at their booth in a local café, Erica said, "So, you're planning on wining and dining me, huh?" Her irises, such a dark shade of brown that they appeared almost red, sparkled with mirth. She loved how ill at ease she made him. _And here I was, thinking I wouldn't be nervous_, he mused to himself.

"Unless you've got a fake, it's gonna just have to be dine. Sorry."

"Not a problem," she purred, "Seeing as I already know you under the influence, I think it'd be nice to talk to you sober." She smiled predatorily and Stiles had to acknowledge that those years of braces had paid off exponentially.

"Heh, yeah, hopefully I didn't say anything too – "

"You didn't," she cut him off.

He fidgeted in his seat, accidentally brushing his foot against hers underneath the table. A dark red blush threatened to overtake his face. "Sorry!" he blurted out quickly.

Still beneath the table, Erica ran her bejeweled hand over the length of Stiles' jean-covered thigh, traveling dangerously north. "Don't worry about it," she breathed.

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he shirked from her touch. _You can't get a boner, you can't get a boner! _he warned himself desperately.

"What's the matter?" she pouted, "Isn't this what you wanted?"

Stiles throat was completely parched, and he opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to regain the ability to speak. "I – I – um – I just wanted to, y'know, get to know you and all that. We don't have to – uh – we don't have to move so fast… We don't have to do anything… like… that. If you don't want to, I mean. If you do – "

She curtailed his blathering with a melodious laugh. "Okay, okay, I get it," she said. "You're a virgin, aren't you?" Her tone stuck halfway between pity and curiosity. "That's cute."

He had no idea how to reply and his eyes darted around frantically. _Dammit, you should have taken your Adderall_, his brain scolded. "I never said that," he replied finally. He'd tried to make his voice deeper, but it just came off like he was doing a Batman impression.

"You didn't need to."

"I'll have you know, I have plenty of… experience," he protested.

"It doesn't count if it's with yourself," she quipped.

Again, Stiles floundered for words. "I never – I don't – it's completely normal to – ugh! There are plenty of girls who'd like to go out with me!"

"But not the ones you want – not _Lydia_." She couldn't help herself; the spite lacing her words was jolting.

His eyebrows knotted together. "You agreed to go out with me, didn't you? I didn't ask Lydia out, I asked you out."

"Please, that doesn't mean that you're over her. I find it hard to believe that you've forgotten about that self-absorbed little bitch."

He winced at her admonishment of Lydia, but bit back the urge to defend his former love. "Trust me, that's not going anywhere. I'm here. With you. I asked _you_ out."

"You know, Stiles, I used to have the _biggest _crush on you. But you never noticed me. Not once. It was like I didn't even exist."

That hit him in the heart. He felt bad – he wasn't a douchebag, he really wasn't. He took great pains not to be like most of his peers, not to be like Jackson. To hear that he'd ignored her in the same way that Lydia had ignored him forced him to see things through an entirely new perspective. In all his years pining after the strawberry-blonde, he'd been blind to other girls. Maybe it was his own fault that he had so little experience. He'd rejected opportunities left and right without even knowing it.

"I – I'm sorry. I really am." His tone was overwhelmingly sincere, but Erica refused to abandon her scheme. She would show him. She would show him what he did to her. She would get revenge.

But first, she had to make him care about her. She smiled with her mouth, but it failed to reach her eyes. "It's fine. It's in the past."

"Just give me a chance," he pleaded, "I'm a good guy, honest. Ask anyone!"

_If only you knew. _"I prefer to make my own judgments."

He broke into a winning grin. "That's totally fine! My only request is that you give me sufficient time to prove myself."

"I suppose that can be arranged…"

**oxOxo**

Stiles brought Erica home at ten-thirty. After dinner, they walked down Main Street and grabbed some ice cream. One thing that he'd noticed about the blonde was that she was _very_ touchy-feely. Even when she was talking about something completely innocent, she would touch his chest or shoulder. It made things exceedingly distracting.

When he shifted his Jeep into park on the street in front of her house, she didn't make any move to leave.

"So, um, I had a– a reallygreattimetonight," he said hurriedly, without looking at her.

"Me too," she droned seductively. "It was fun… Stiles? Stiles, look at me, hun."

At the sound of a pet name, he snapped his head in her direction. "What is it?"

She rested her hand in the space between his shoulder and jaw line and stroked the side of his face with her thumb. All the while, her dark eyes leered at him expectantly.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" She pursed her lips ever so slightly, as if to nudge him onto the right train of thought.

He licked his own lips twitchily. _Okay, this is it. This is what you wanted all along, dude. You can't pussy out now. You just can't. She's giving you the green light, you'd be a COMPLETE idiot to ignore all the signals. I'll never forgive you if you don't go through with it, man, do you hear me? Never! You'll regret this for the rest of your life!_

He scrounged together every ounce of bravery in his 147-pound form and took a deep breath. He leant forward and shut his eyes once Erica's fluttered closed, validating that he was taking the right course of action.

She couldn't help but smile into the kiss. It had been a long time coming, as far as she was concerned. She moved her left hand up to his face, placing the right one in the same position on the other side. Stiles' hand hovered at her hip, just barely touching the fabric of her shirt. He was so, _so_ gentle. She tried to ignore how different kissing him was; she'd made out with nearly twenty plus guys, but none of them had ever treated her the way he did.

She slid her hand down, unbuckling his seatbelt and repositioning herself so that her whole body was facing him. She gave him a few more minutes of kissing to get him acclimated, before swinging one leg over his and sitting down on his lap.

Eyes wide as saucers, he opened his mouth (presumably to say something), but Erica covered it with hers. Whatever he'd words he'd meant to utter were completely lost in the passion of their warring tongues. She trailed her hot lips down to his neck, nipping at the skin in a way that was sure to leave a hickey. Stiles, reveling in the sensation, tilted his head upwards to give her better access as her long hair lapped against his skin. His eyes were glued shut and his hands were glued to her waist.

Without warning, she ground her hips into his and started working on the fly of his pants. The poor kid's eyes flew open and his hips bucked forward, against his control. The abruptness of the whole ordeal sent Erica reeling back into the steering wheel and caused her to set off the horn.

Stiles was positively mortified, which was evidenced in his expression. She was filled with a genuine laughter at the sight of it. "Relax," she giggled, "It's fine!"

"No, it's not fine! Oh my god. Are you all right? That didn't – you didn't – are you okay? Jesus Christ. Please tell me you're okay?"

"I'm totally fine," she assured him, still laughing. "But I think you've had enough for one night. I don't want to completely spoil your innocence just yet."

She then maneuvered herself off of him, back into the passenger's seat. Stiles' face was flushed, his eyes were glassy, and his lips were swollen and coated in a thin layer of her lipstick. His hair would have been ruffled, too, if it weren't so short. And then there was the slightly less obvious effect that lay (thankfully) cloaked by the shadows and darkness of the night.

She gave him one last chaste kiss before stepping out of the car.

"Call me," she said with a wink.

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, so that was pretty raunchy as far as anything else I've written goes. Let me know what you thought of Erica in this, pretty please! **

**I took out the epileptic part because there was really no way for me to have her be "cured" of it without the werewolf stuff. But in the show there's definitely this sort of desire for revenge on her classmates that she has, and I kind of wanted to transfer some of that to Stiles. I feel like she would be angry that he's only noticing her now, you know? Even if she does still have a crush on him. **

**And there was a little bit of Isaac in this, too! Their relationship will be explored further later on in the story. I love Stiles dearly, but despite the fact that the show is so desperate to paint him as the "nice guy," I feel like what he did to Erica kind of conflicts with that. BUT DON'T GET ME WRONG I FUCKING LOVE STILES MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF. Also I see Isaac as being a real sweetheart, deep down. Let me know what you thought of the characterizations! **

**The beginning would have been better place in the last chapter, but it was really long so I refrained. What do you think of Derek's train of thought? These last two chapters have been mad long, so tell me your opinions!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: THANK YOU REVIEWERS I LOVE YOU.**

**Song for the chapter: Hi Friend by Deadmau5  
**

* * *

**Hi Friend**

When Stiles got back to his house, the first thing he did was call Scott.

"Yo, what's up?" came his friend's response.

"You'll never believe what just happened to me."

"What? Oh yeah, you had that date with Erica, right? How did it go?"

"Dude, I just spent the past half hour hooking up with her in my Jeep. I know it's a piece of shit, but it suddenly just became my all-time favorite thing on the face of the earth."

"Ha-ha, good one, bro. I'm glad to hear about someone other than Lydia for once. So are you guys, like, on the path to dating?"

Stiles paused, unsure. "I think so. I like her, man. And she's hot."

"Not my type," he replied (because _of course_ he only had eyes for Allison), "but I see the appeal. Just be careful… I don't mean to sound like a dick, but it kind of seems like she gets around. No offense."

"… I think she's just been kind of overwhelmed by all the sudden attention, you know? Plus, I'm not exactly a delicate flower offering my heart to her on a silver platter."

There was more laughter on the other line. "So you think you can tie her down?"

"I mean, how could she resist my hyperactive charm? She'd have to be crazy."

"Yeah, let's just hope she's only one type of crazy, if you know what I mean."

"From the sneak peek I got tonight, I'm gonna have to say that she probably is."

"Ha sweet! Well, I'm happy it went well. I gotta go though, my mom is freaking out at me for talking on the phone because she's trying to sleep. I'll talk to you later? We still on for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sounds good. Isaac's at four, right?"

"Yup."

"Okay, I'll talk to you later, then. Bye, dude."

**oxOxo**

"_You're_ back late," Isaac commented from the sofa as Derek stepped into the house. He sounded a bit like an overprotective mother who had stayed up all night waiting for him to return home. In reality, though, he'd just been watching The Dark Knight.

Derek gave a grunt of acknowledgement, but offered no explanation.

So, Isaac pressed, "Where were you?"

"Out."

"Out where?"

"What does it matter? Go back to whatever you were doing, it wasn't anything interesting."

"_Au contraire_, the fact that you're avoiding telling me is exactly what makes it interesting. Plus, I already knew you were out with Amy Bell."

"What? How?"

"Amy told Stiles, Stiles told Scott, and Scott told me."

"Why are you talking about me with your friends?"

Isaac shrugged. "It just came up when we were talking about Stiles going out with Erica tonight. And you _are_ my br-cousin."

They both noticed the slip, but neither addressed it. Isaac's older brother, Camden, would have been exactly Derek's age if he hadn't died in combat. Isaac had accidentally called him Camden on numerous occasions, but it didn't bother him at all. In fact, he was kind of flattered (he would never admit it) that Isaac saw him as a brother-figure instead of just a cousin. He cared about Isaac more than he would ever let on, especially since all they had was each other.

"Erica? Your ex? With _Stiles_?" he questioned. His gaze softened, but his tone became protective. He didn't like the idea that Stiles was doing something that could potentially offend Isaac. Not to mention, he was beginning to get really weirded out. All sorts of people from different parts of his life were colliding. Beacon Hills wasn't _that_ small…

"Yeah."

This was a bit confusing for Derek, too. Stiles was probably the most loyal person he knew. Although, he had also noticed that he and Isaac were involved in a bizarre little competition over Scott, but he still couldn't imagine Stiles abandoning the bro-code.

"Do you care?" he asked finally. Despite the fact that he was Stiles' friend, his allegiances ultimately lay with Isaac.

"No, not really. If I cared about every guy she dated, I'd be a mess right now. She's kinda gone off the deep end. They can do what they want, I really don't care. He and Scott are coming over tomorrow to watch the game, though, so hopefully it won't be awkward."

"I see." He didn't really know Erica, but from what Isaac had told him before she had become a bit of a slut after breaking up with him.

"Yeah. But how'd your date go?" he asked with a smirk. Isaac asserted his little brother status through periodic teasing, so Derek wasn't eager to give him anything to fuel the fire.

"It wasn't a date," he stated gruffly.

The younger boy laughed. "It wasn't? Then what was it, a cup of coffee between friends? C'mon, Derek, don't insult my intelligence."

"It was nothing. She was bothering me and the only way I could shut her up was by taking her out. It's not going to happen again."

"I could think of a few ways to shut her up…" he muttered.

Derek looked at him, his scruffy eyebrows raised and a smirk playing at his lips.

"What? You have to admit, she's hot," Isaac explained defensively.

"If you want her, she's all yours," he said before climbing upstairs.

Isaac watched him go with great interest. Frankly, he was intrigued by the whole situation; it wasn't often that Derek went on dates. In fact, he couldn't think of the last time he'd been on one (maybe he'd gone out without his knowledge, but still).

Sure, he had brought girls home for casual sex before. That sort of thing didn't happen _too_ often, but it certainly did happen – _that_, he was positive of, seeing as he slept in the room next door. But god knows, despite the fact that he was now scarred for life and probably needed a shitload of therapy, he never complained – not once.

Because Derek needed to let go once in a while. It wasn't healthy for someone so young to harbor so much resentment – so much hatred and anger. There was part of him that had aged beyond his years after the fire. It was like he thought he had to assume the role of a patriarch and he _didn't_. Isaac didn't want him to be anything other than what he was. He didn't need a father, and he didn't really even need a brother. He just needed a friend, and Derek was so much more than that already.

**oxOxo**

Amy awoke late Sunday morning with her head swimming with thoughts of Derek. _I can't believe I did that_. She'd taken a risk – a big risk. Her decision to kiss him could have been either very good or very bad. She didn't know which one it was, yet, and it was killing her. Though Sundays were typically reserved for catching up on schoolwork, she couldn't deny herself the time to debrief Allison and… well, and Stiles. Because although she knew he hated it, she treated him like one of her girl-friends. He was pretty much Allison's substitute and, since Allison was often preoccupied with her _own_ boy-problems, Stiles stepped in quite frequently ("stepped in" perhaps isn't the best choice of words – we wouldn't want to create the illusion that he had any choice in the matter).

She merrily skipped downstairs to see the rest of her family sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hello, everyone!" she said happily.

"Wow, someone's in a good mood," her mother remarked in surprise. She knew all too well that Amy wasn't usually chipper so soon after waking up.

Ian knew this, too, and watched her like a hawk, his eyes narrowed to slits. But he didn't say anything. There were several reasons why he took such an interest in his sister's personal life: the first was due to the natural curiosity of a younger sibling. The second, however, was a bit more complex. Amy's comings and goings presented a bit of a challenge for him to decipher. And since she perpetually kept them all in the dark either through lies or the omitting of information, he'd taken it upon himself to unravel the mysteries merely through observation. It was a bit like solving a puzzle. This newfound happiness, he concluded, did not stem from her night out with her friends. Something different had transpired, something _very_ different.

"I'm going over to Allison's for a bit," she told them.

"What about your homework," her father protested.

"I don't have that much, and I'll be back soon, I promise!"

"You were just with her all night," her mother reasoned, "Why do you need to see her again?"

"Look, it's just some school stuff. I'll be back soon, okay?"

Her mother shook her head in exasperation, but didn't stop her.

She knocked on Allison's front door, only to be faced with Chris Argent.

"Hi Mr. Argent," she said, "can I talk to Allison for a sec?"

He looked a smidgen wary, but let her in nevertheless. "Allison!" he called from the bottom of the stairs, "Amy's here!"

The other brunette emerged from her bedroom. From over the railing, she called, "You can come up!"

As soon as Amy was in the room and the door was shut, Allison sat cross-legged on her bed and questioned, "So, how was it?"

Amy broke into a sheepish grin. "It was okay. Actually, I don't know. It could have either been good or bad."

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, so, we went to a drive-in movie, right? And it was fine. A little awkward, but not too bad. And then afterwards we went to get a bite to eat. And it was all fine, not really very eventful. I mean, I always knew he was kind of dry, but _god_ he is not very talkative. He didn't make any effort at all and he seemed kind of bored, but at least he wasn't hostile, you know? He's been hostile to me before… But anyway, at the end of the night, I was like, 'well damn you didn't really make any impression at all.' So I did something. Kind of stupid, maybe? But it definitely made an impression."

Allison was now sufficiently concerned. "Oh god, what did you do?"

"I kissed him. No, you know what, not even kissed. Like, mouth-raped him…"

Allison buried her face in her hands in dismay. "_Amy_, you didn't."

"Yeah, I did…"

"Oh my god… What did he do?" She had to admit, the story – though it was catastrophic – was very entertaining.

"Well, he didn't really give him time to react. I kind of left before he could say anything."

"So that's it? That's the last time you saw him-slash-heard anything from him?"

"Yeah."

"I can't believe you would do that."

"Yeah, me either. But hey, everyone has to take some chances once in awhile, am I right? A little spontaneity does a person some good!"

"You sound like Stiles."

"Everyone's been saying that, lately. Maybe he's rubbing off on me."

"Maybe that's because you've been spending so much time with him," Allison teased, waggling her well-groomed eyebrows.

"_God_, not this again. _Everyone_, all the time. We're not into each other, I promise. In case it wasn't clear, my focus is on Derek."

"Yeah, I was just kidding. You've made that _pretty_ clear… I wonder how Stiles' date with Erica went."

"Me too. Should we call him?"

Allison chuckled at the earnestness of Amy's tone. "I doubt he'll want to have girl-talk with us, Amy. Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you kind of emasculate him sometimes."

Amy scoffed. "Are you kidding me? He doesn't care! We're, like, totally bros."

Again, Allison laughed. "Yeeeah I don't think he sees it that way."

"Our friendship is very unique," she defended lamely.

"Whatever you say, Ames."

"Well, I'm gonna go talk to him. Plus, I want to hear what he has to say about the Derek incident. I'll update you later."

"Kay. Talk to you soon."

**oxOxo**

When Amy reached Stiles' house, Mr. Stilinski greeted her, "Amy, you might as well just move in."

She gave him her best smile and said, "I'm not here _that_ often."

"I should just adopt you," he continued, "Or can I expect a happy announcement from you and my son sometime soon?"

"I wouldn't count on it," she replied dryly, perturbed by the constant insinuations that she and Stiles should be a couple. "Is Stiles in his room?"

"Yeah, go on up. He's been up there all morning, though, so he might be a little… loopy. You know how he gets when he's alone for a long time," he sighed. Amy didn't know how she felt about Stiles' dad talking to her in such a way. It was almost too… fond. Like he thought she knew his son really well, even though they'd only been friends for a matter of months.

But indeed, if Mr. Stilinski was alluding to Stiles' ADHD acting up, then she knew all too well the state her friend was likely in.

"Thanks for the heads up, Mr. S," she said on her way up the stairs.

"Stiles?" she called, knocking on the doorframe.

"Amy?"

"Yeah, can I come in?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure."

She stepped into his bedroom to see, much to her shock, Stiles doing _homework_. Naturally, she was appalled. "Are you _working?_"

"Yeah, don't sound so surprised," he bristled. It was a well-known fact that Stiles was very smart – maybe even brilliant – but it was exceedingly rare to actually witness him concentrating on school. His natural intelligence was sometimes undermined by his inability to focus.

"This is just a rare sight, is all."

"Believe it or not, I'm using it as a distraction."

Amy sat at the foot of his bed, now genuinely curious. "To distract yourself from what?"

"…Erica…"

"Oh no, it didn't go well?"

"No… It went _amazing_. Like, better than I would have ever expected."

The girl willed her face not to betray her surprise and envy. "Details?"

"I'm not one to kiss and tell," he joked, "But let's just say that I think my days of celibacy are coming to a rapid close – after all these years in the desert, I've finally found my oasis."

"You two…?"

"Not _exactly_, but it wasn't nothing, either..."

Amy made a face because, as intrusive as she was, she didn't exactly want all the gory details. "Well, congrats. So what's the next step, do you think?"

"She asked me to call her…"

"Have you?"

"No, not yet. I want to – like, _really_ want to. I've been thinking about it all day, hence the Punnett squares. I was gonna do it later 'cause I don't want to seem too desperate."

"I guess that's probably a good idea," she allowed. "What are you gonna say?"

"I dunno. I was thinking of just asking her out again for Friday?"

"That sounds fine…"

"Yeah. So how'd _your_ date go?"

"Either really well or really awful."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I – uh – I kind of surprised him, I think."

"Oh god, in what way?" Stiles' tone sounded remarkably similar to Allison's, Amy noticed. It was odd, because the two of them were usually polar opposites. Apparently fear was a universal reaction to her behavior.

"I kissed him," she said, "Surprise kissed him."

"God, Amy. What'd he do?"

"I didn't really give him time to respond… I chickened out."

He laughed loudly at the idea of the whole thing. He could easily picture Derek giving his best poker-face after having Amy shove her tongue down his throat. He almost wished he'd been there to see the aftermath. "Have you heard anything from him?"

She chewed her lower lip. "No," she answered finally. "I know that's probably bad, but it's Derek, right? He's not really the most… _eager_ of people… Maybe I'll hear something by the end of the week…" she rambled. Stiles was easily able to wade through this hopeful façade and see that Amy was petrified she'd screwed everything up.

"I'll tell you what," he answered, feeling generous. "I'm going over to Isaac's with Scott tonight to chill and watch the game. I'll see if I can talk to either him or Derek about it. Isaac and I aren't exactly tight, but Scott wants us to be friends… Although, now that I think about it, he probably totally hates my guts for going out with Erica… Shit, I didn't even think of that… Well, if he doesn't threaten to murder me, I'll see if I can get him to talk to Derek about it."

Amy jumped from her seat and threw her arms around Stiles in a joyous embrace. "Ohmygod ohmygod _really_? Thank you so much, Stiles, thank you so much!"

"Jesus, you're suffocating me," he wheezed dramatically.

She let go abruptly. "Sorry," she managed in an obvious attempt to restrain herself. "But oh my god thank you!" Aaaand she was hugging him again. _Just peachy_… Stiles complained internally. There was only one girl he wanted touching him at the moment, and it certainly wasn't Amy.

"Yeah, yeah, relax. I said I'd talk to him. I'm not a miracle worker," he said with a smirk, echoing Amy's earlier comment about Lydia.

She gave him a sly grin. "If you can find a way to get us alone together a couple more times, I promise you I'll be able to take care of the rest."

* * *

**Author's Note: So, I know I can't expect this to get as much feedback as Fast Times (because frankly it's not as exciting), but I'd really love to hear what you guys think of the character dynamics. This chapter was mainly just to establish how all the friendships work. **

**My most important question is what you guys think of the Derek/Isaac relationship. I don't really have a great handle on Isaac's character and I'm a bit wary of writing him because I'm way more comfortable with the others (mainly Stiles and Derek, they are my faves), but I know he's popular and an important character (plus I think he's adorbs).  
**

**If you're hoping for more Amy/Derek, just be patient! I have a ton of (what I think are) pretty good Deramy scenes just waiting to be published, but now isn't quite the time! Also, I'd really like to know what you want the Stiles/Isaac relationship to be like. As I mentioned in the chapter, I feel like there's gonna be some competition over Scott's attention... Please let me know, guys! It really helps to hear what you think!  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Thank you so much to all the reviewers, as always. I hope you guys will like this chapter ;-)  
**

**Also random, but DID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT CRYSTAL REED AND DANIEL SHARMAN ARE DATING? My brain exploded.  
**

**Song for the chapter: Rad Bromance by Agrimorfee (? parody of Lady Gaga's Bad Romance lol)**

* * *

**Rad Bromance**

Stiles picked up Scott at around quarter-to-four; together, they made their way to the Hale residence, which lay on the outskirts of the forest. When they arrived, the two friends couldn't help but look upon the house with ambivalence. On one hand, its glossy new exterior represented the chance to start over, the chance for Derek and Isaac to build a new life. But on the other, it was nothing more than a bandage. Neither Derek nor Isaac had recovered from the trauma of the fire, and, in that sense, the freshly painted wood seemed like a cover-up rather than a solution.

Scott and Stiles remembered all too well what the home had looked like before its makeover – when they were in elementary school, they used to visit it on Halloween due to the striking resemblance it bore to a haunted house. And maybe it was haunted, still. Its new, unthreatening façade didn't change the fact eight people had died in it.

With these cheerful thoughts in mind, the boys let themselves in. The sound of the TV blaring in the neighboring room vanquished the sense of grimness that had overtaken them.

"Yo, Isaac," Scott called.

"In here!"

Stiles trailed behind his shaggy-haired friend. He wasn't too enthused to be there, to be entirely honest. It wasn't that he didn't like _Isaac_ (Stiles really didn't have anything against anyone, except maybe Jackson), it was just that he didn't like how close he and Scott were becoming. It was a huge adjustment, opening their friendship to other people. They had been each other's best (and oftentimes _only_ friends) friends since they were kids.

"Hey, Stiles," Isaac greeted aloofly.

"Hey. How's it going?"

"Pretty good. I heard you went on a date with Erica last night," he said, getting straight to the point.

"Yeeeeah, I wanted to talk to you about that, actually… I hope that's okay, I mean, I didn't even think – "

"It's fine, dude, don't worry about it," he cut him off. "That stuff is long in the past. If you think you can get her to stick to one guy, by all means, go for it."

Stiles tried to ignore the backhandedness of everything Isaac had just said and replied, "Thanks man, I appreciate it. No hard feelings?"

"No hard feelings," he agreed. "I have to say, though, I always pictured you with that Bell girl."

"Me and Amy?" he sputtered exaggeratedly. "Nah, that's – I mean, we're just friends."

Scott and Isaac shared a furtive look; it didn't escape Stiles' notice.

"Look, I'm serious," he maintained. "She likes Derek," he hissed, using his hand to muffle the noise.

"So I've heard," Isaac replied.

"Speaking of which," Scott added, "Where is he?"

"He's around here somewhere… Hey, Derek! Where are you dude?" he shouted.

"That wasn't really what I had in mind…" Scott laughed.

"What do you want?" he deadpanned from the doorway, looking thoroughly unamused. He had a way of just _standing there_, looming over everyone like he had zero fucks to give.

"Stiles and Scott are here."

"I can see that," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Are you gonna watch the game with us?"

"Maybe," he allowed.

"How'd your date with Amy go?" Stiles pestered cheekily.

This comment successfully turned his "maybe" into a "hell no"; he turned on his heel and walked away without another word.

"She really likes you, man!" he yelled after him. "Although," he continued, "I can't imagine why."

"Probably because she spends so much time with you," he retorted from the next room over.

"Don't be such a sourpuss! There's no need to be jealous that I'm getting more tail than you are."

Scott and Isaac snickered – the conversation was made significantly more entertaining due to the fact that neither party could see his opponent.

"Please, she was all over me. She would have done anything I wanted."

_Ah, now that's interesting_, Isaac mused. He was suddenly quite glad that he'd invited Stiles over, as he apparently had an effective way of extracting information from Derek.

"I wouldn't be so sure! She doesn't put out as easily as she seems!"

"You weren't there. She was throwing herself at me."

"I know her better than you do," he contended adamantly.

"I think I know her _pretty_ _well_." The innuendo in his words was throwback to the days before Kate had ruined him, when he was still just a carefree teenager.

"Nah, I don't believe it."

"Call her over here right now, I'll show you," he fumed. _God_ did Stiles annoy him – he knew just what buttons to push to get him mad. And he had just taken the bait.

"Really?" The hopefulness in his tone was comical. He was pretty sure this wasn't what Amy had had in mind when she asked him to talk to Derek for her, but this was basically how all his and Derek's conversations went. They weren't about to have heart-to-heart or some shit like that; it just wasn't how their relationship worked.

"No, you dumbass," he snapped. He finally walked into the room, partially to face him and partially to make sure that he didn't actually call her.

"Are you gonna call her back or what?" he continued to interrogate.

"That's none of your business, but _no_."

"Aw, c'mon. Girls are fragile! You gotta let them down easy! At least have the courtesy to do it in person."

"Do _what_ in person? We went on _one_ date, that doesn't constitute anything!" In his annoyance, he completely forgot that Scott and Isaac were privy to the entirety of this conversation. He didn't particularly care, but he wasn't a fan of airing his dirty laundry out in public, either. He cursed Stiles for having the know-how to drag this reaction out of him.

"Come on, Derek," he pressed, "she's a nice girl. She doesn't deserve for you to treat her like shit."

"I'm not treating her like shit," he defended weakly. However, a sharp and unexpected stab of guilt pricked his chest. _Yes you are, _scolded his subconscious.

"Stiles is right," Scott interjected, "She's a good kid. You should at least give her a shot." He didn't appreciate hearing Derek talk about his friend like she was nothing more than a piece of meat. And he also happened to know that Amy had her heart set on winning Derek over; if he said something nasty to her (which was very foreseeable), he would genuinely hurt her feelings. Plus, he knew Derek wasn't a total bastard. Deep down, he was a good guy. _Very_ deep down.

Like a caged animal, Derek turned to Isaac for assistance. However, he was having none of it. "She's always really sweet," his cousin added with the ghost of a smirk, "I've never heard her say a mean thing about anyone." He knew Derek far better than most people, and he speculated that prolonged contact with someone of the feminine variety might be extraordinarily beneficial for him.

He stared at the three teenaged boys, feeling overwhelmingly outnumbered. "Why do you all care so much?" he spat.

"Because she's our friend," Stiles explained, his arms flailing wildly to emphasize his point. Scott nodded supportively behind him, causing Derek to roll his eyes at the ridiculousness of it all.

"You know," Isaac contemplated aloud, "I think I'm gonna have a house party this weekend. What do you guys think? Nothing too big – I'm thinking us, Allison, Lydia, Erica, Jackson, Danny, and Amy."

"You'd be okay with me and Erica here?" Stiles questioned cautiously.

"Sure. She and I are still good friends. It's no big deal." He didn't sound too enthusiastic, but continued, "What do you think, Derek?"

"Do what you want," he growled, seething. He really couldn't stop him, even if he wanted to. With that, he turned on his heel and stormed away.

"He was _not _a happy camper," Stiles muttered in amusement.

"No, but I think he needs this. I'm doing it for his own good," Isaac replied.

"You know," he observed, "those are all couples except for you and Danny… You trying to tell us something dude?"

Scott burst out laughing. "Maybe you should invite Matt and Boyd."

"Okay," he agreed, his cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment.

"That's not a great ratio, but hey, it's your call," Stiles said. He knew there wasn't really anyone else they would consider asking to come; he was just trying to subtly rub Isaac's face in the fact that there wouldn't be anyone for him.

**oxOxo**

Friday came in a flash. Stiles was convinced that Derek was secretly Isaac's bitch, because somehow he convinced him to buy all the booze for the party. In the past, he and Scott had begged Derek on numerous occasions to buy them a measly six-pack, without any luck whatsoever.

Nevertheless, he and Scott helped him with the minimal preparations (i.e. setting up a pong table and hiding anything that was fragile and valuable). Truthfully, there wasn't much damage to be done – between a twenty-something-year-old Derek and a teenage Isaac, the house was almost always in shambles.

The entire time they set up, however, Derek acted as if he wanted to dismember them all with his bare hands. Stiles didn't think he'd every seen him so furious. But it was a silent sort of rage, which made it all the more terrifying. It was the sort of rage that conveyed, _"I'm letting you do this because I have no choice, and I despise you for it." _An hour or so after they arrived, he took off.

Come nine PM, people started arriving. The first ones to show up were Allison and Amy.

All the guys had to admit, Amy looked beautiful. She'd obviously gone to great lengths to perfect her appearance, and it had paid off. Her hair was curled, her makeup had been applied meticulously, and her outfit was alluring without being skanky. She wore a pair of high-waisted black shorts and a sheer, cream blouse with a tank top underneath. Allison looked pretty as always, too, in a floral romper. But it was clear that she hadn't put as much effort into her ensemble as Amy had (which was understandable, because she didn't need to – she already had Scott wrapped around her finger).

Much to Miss Bell's disappointment, however, Derek was nowhere to be seen when she stepped through the door.

"Hey Isaac, thanks for inviting me," she said. She didn't know him very well, but she was consumed by the hope that they would be on good terms. The way she saw it, if Isaac liked her, Derek might hate her less.

"Of course," he beamed, before resuming his game of pong against Stiles. He was in the lead, with four cups left to Stiles' six. The latter looked very perturbed.

The next two to arrive were Erica and Boyd, and Matt and Danny showed up soon after (_"What was going on between those two, anyway_?" Amy asked Allison after a couple beers. They took a poll, only to find that no one really knew.).

Erica seemed to not know what to do when she walked in. In school the whole week, she and Stiles had been stealing kisses and Amy thought she might have even seen them _holding hands_ at one point.

It was all very shocking to the student body, given the fact that Stiles hadn't been romantically linked to, well, _anyone_ before. A good chunk of the senior class had been aware of his crush on Lydia, but it was also common knowledge that it had never (and most likely would never) come to fruition.

Amy had to be honest with herself – she hated it. She actually didn't think she had hated anything more than she hated Stiles and Erica as a couple, for the simple reason that their being together left her _all alone_.

Allison was with Scott (though she was sensitive of Amy's new predicament and tried to spend more time with her), and she had lost _Stiles_, her rock, her buddy, the one she turned to when everyone else was gone. She didn't have anything against Erica and of course she wanted her friend to be happy, but _god damn_ it'd only been a week and she missed him terribly. She hadn't thought him getting a girlfriend would affect her so much.

Needless to say, she was in the midst of a major mental crisis. In fact, it actually scared her how strongly she felt about the whole situation. _You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone, I guess._

She needed a boyfriend, and she needed one _pronto_. She was about ready to settle for anyone at this point, despite the fact that she was still madly in love with Derek. But was it really Derek she was in love with? Or was it the _idea_ of Derek? _Why are you confusing yourself, you dumb bitch_, she chided herself. No, it was simple: she'd give Derek another week or so to come around, but after that she had to move on.

Thankfully, when Erica greeted Stiles, she kept the PDA to a minimum. She didn't want to disrespect Isaac, especially not in his own house. Amy was extremely relieved; she didn't think she would have able to stop herself from dry heaving at the sight of the two of them making out.

By eleven, Lydia and Jackson had arrived and everyone had coupled up, leaving Amy with Boyd and Isaac. It was the most random and bizarre trio she had ever been a part of, especially since she didn't think she had ever talked to Boyd before in her entire life. It only further drew attention to the fact that all her friends were leaving her behind.

"Where's Derek?" she asked Isaac, leaning dangerously close to his face.

"He went out earlier, but he should be back by now," he answered kindly. "Do you want me to go get him for you?" Based solely on the tone of his voice at that exact moment, Amy decided that she really liked him. _Maybe he could be a replacement Stiles_. But no, who was she kidding? No one could ever replace Stiles… But hey, maybe he could replace Derek. No, no one could replace Derek, either. That was just the loneliness talking. _Dammit._

"Oh, n-no, that's okay, I mean, he obviously doesn't want to see me… I don't – I don't want to bother him," she stammered shyly.

Isaac's big heart melted a little at the face she made – she looked like a wounded puppy. Right then and there, he decided that he was going to kick Derek's ass if he wasn't nice to this girl.

"No, I'm going to find him," he said resolutely. "Come with me." Without further ado, he grabbed her by the wrist and brought her upstairs. This misleading scene earned a fascinated glance from literally every other person in the house, including the typically-coy Jackson and Lydia.

"_That_ was fast," Lydia muttered dryly.

But the two who looked the most flabbergasted were by far Erica and Stiles. Stiles' mouth hung open, and Erica's expression was completely blank.

Little did they all know, he was actually leading her to Derek's room. He banged loudly against the wood.

Reluctantly, the door creaked open. "What the hell do you want?" Derek demanded, at first only seeing Isaac.

"Here," was all his younger cousin said, thrusting Amy through the crack and inadvertently into Derek's arms. "You guys need to have a chat." And then he disappeared.

* * *

**Author's Note: Muahaha I know, that was kind of a mean place to end it. But what I REALLY want to know from you guys is WHO DO YOU SHIP? I've heard Amy/Derek, Erica/Stiles, Isaac/Erica, and now even Stiles/Amy. **

**I just wanna clarify something about Amy seeming kind of "jealous" of Erica - I'm trying to portray something kind of tricky because it's not jealousy _exactly_. From my experience, whenever one of my guy friends has gotten a girlfriend, there's always some hostility and then I worry like "oh my god do I like this person." Cuz I feel like with guy friends, even though your love for them is platonic, if you're really close it can sometimes be confusing if another girl comes in and pretty much takes them away from you.  
**

**So yeah. Let me know what you all thought of Isaac, the Stiles/Derek scene, who you guys ship, and anything else! I love to hear your opinions! Thanks for reading :-)  
**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for all the reviews, guys! We got a few more than normal, so here is your reward ;-)  
**

**Song for the chapter: Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men (love this song, and love it for... Well, you'll see).**

* * *

**Little Talks**

Amy was so embarrassed that she felt her chest burn painfully, almost as if she were experiencing some sort of heartburn. Here she was, in Derek's _bedroom_, standing toe-to-toe with him. What was most striking about the whole situation, however, was that he looked like he had just gotten out of the shower. I.e., he was shirtless. His glorious (and _glistening) _six-pack was literally _inches_ from her touch.

Her mouth went dry immediately. "I – er – sorry, I – I didn't know that – I didn't know he was going to do that," she finally managed, after some difficulty.

He exhaled a ragged breath of irritation. "It's all right. It's not your fault."

A heavy silence descended upon them; the only sound was the blaring of Scott's sub-woofers, which rattled the very foundations of the house. The benefit of having a party in the woods was that they didn't have to worry about noise complaints from the neighbors. For a while, Amy and Derek's eyes remained locked, but eventually both had to look away. The whole thing was just incredibly awkward. He hastily procured a wife-beater and pulled it over his head; an immediate sense of relief washed over him. Amy couldn't say she shared his sentiments, but she certainly became less distracted.

"Why do you hate me?" she blurted out abruptly.

Derek softened his intense gaze, sitting at the edge of his bed and motioning for her to sit across from him. When she had, he could see that her eyes were swimming with hurt. The vague sense of guilt he'd been staving off for days finally materialized into something more concrete.

"I don't hate you," he said, his tone surprisingly mild.

"Yes, you do – you must. You've obviously been trying to avoid me, especially after… What… I… did."

"Look," he assured her, "It wasn't that. It's nothing you did. I just… I don't think it makes sense for anything else to... happen between us."

They were suddenly hit with the smell of pot creeping through the floorboards. While Amy didn't think anything of it, Derek shot to his feet and started downstairs mid-conversation. Startled by his reaction and unsure of what to do, she followed him.

Isaac met him at the foot of the stairs. "I told them not to," he insisted frantically. His voice was a far cry from what it had been when he was talking to Amy – he sounded almost panicked, and looked to his cousin for assistance. In a very short span of time, he'd gone from teasing Derek to imploring him.

The three walked around to the kitchen to see Stiles, Scott, and Jackson sharing a blunt.

"Out," Derek ordered rigidly. Isaac and Amy stood behind him. She cast her gaze to Isaac, who was staring at the smoke, transfixed. It dawned on her suddenly that he must have had a phobia of fire.

"What do you care," Jackson sneered. "We're not hurting anything."

"I won't tolerate anything burning in my house," Derek growled.

Scott and Stiles' eyes widened in realization, but Jackson was still unfazed. "What, like this little thing is going to start a fire?" He took a long drag; when the smoke flowed from his mouth, he said, "Don't be ridiculous."

"I said, _out_." Jackson was in superb shape, but so was Derek, and he was bigger – all bets were on him, if the two were to get into a fight.

"C'mon, dude, let's do what he says," Scott said. He took the joint from his hand and put it out in the sink. "Sorry," he apologized.

"Yeah, sorry man, I didn't even think…" Stiles trailed off.

Jackson snickered maliciously. "You guys are a bunch of pussies. Lydia!" he summoned her from the other room, "Come on, we're leaving!"

"Are you sure you're okay to drive?" Stiles questioned skeptically.

"I appreciate the concern, Stilinski," he didn't really _sound_ like he did, but, to be fair, Stiles was primarily worried about Lydia… "but I'm _fine_." He then proceeded to storm out of the kitchen.

Scott and Stiles sent another rueful look to Isaac, but eventually filtered into the living room as well. Stiles kept his eyes fixed on Amy as he passed her in the doorway; he looked as if he wanted to say something, but refrained.

"Thanks," Isaac said quietly to Derek. He still looked faintly catatonic, but eventually joined the others.

Now alone with Derek in the kitchen, Amy suggested, "Do you want to talk outside? I could use some fresh air…"

He nodded curtly. He too wanted to escape the suffocating smell.

They were met with a wall of cool air as they walked towards the edge of the trees. The branches curled around them towards the sky, covered in new leaves. Derek's house escaped the light pollution that affected the more populated areas of Beacon Hills, so the stars shone brightly in the inky sky. It was a cloudless night.

The pair walked in silence for several minutes, enjoying the refreshing breeze and listening to crickets chirp and foliage crunch beneath their feet.

When Derek finally spoke, he said, "You shouldn't have been so persistent."

"Sorry?"

"With me."

The calm atmosphere was disrupted instantly and Amy felt indignation bubble in her stomach. "_You_ gave _me_ your number."

"I know. It was a mistake. I didn't think… I didn't mean… I was just kidding around. I shouldn't have done it. I regret it." From the way he struggled to express his thoughts, she could tell that there were a great many things he regretted. But she refused to accept that she was one of them.

She felt her temper flare up, made even more amplified by the four beers she'd consumed and the current state of her withering friendships.

Amy stopped walking and turned to face him. His sharp features were obscured by the darkness, but she could still make out a scowl on his face.

A decision had to be made on her part. Did she want to give up, or did she still think she could sway his aversions to her? She'd always considered herself a fighter. If this was really it, the least she could do was go out with a bang.

It was important to bear in mind that a girl only had so much self-control, and tensions were running high. Amy didn't know if she had latched onto Derek before or after she'd made said decision, but she supposed it didn't matter. And she certainly didn't know at what point she'd realized that he was _responding_.

It was incomprehensible to her; though it wasn't the first time they'd kissed, it was the first time he'd reacted. One minute he's telling her he regrets even meeting her and the next… this. _Talk about mixed signals, I mean really!_

However, such thoughts of how, why, or when were completely drowned in the fire of his lips against her lips, his tongue against her tongue, and his teeth against her skin. Goosebumps. Wherever he touched her there were goosebumps, and he touched her _everywhere_. His hands finally settled at her hips, beneath her blouse but above her tank top.

Her body had never reacted like this to anyone. She was shaking. Literally, shaking.

Her only stability came from the cold bark of a nearby tree (_how had they gotten there, exactly?_). And there was nothing. There was nothing in the world apart for him, apart for how he made her feel.

"Do you regret _this_," she hissed, her lips tickling his ear. The words spilled from her mouth before she knew what she was doing. All at once, her hands reached the front of his jeans and he ripped himself away like she had scalded him.

She had screwed up. Royally. But no, she wouldn't allow it; her nails, like talons, nearly tore the through the fabric of his flimsy shirt as she held him at a close distance.

"Don't you dare," she warned.

Blue met blue. But his eyes weren't blue, not exactly. She didn't know what color they were because, even in the moonlight, she had never seen anything else quite like them.

Roughly, before he had a chance to object, she closed the gap between their bodies. She channeled her anger, aggression, and frustration into confidence, and _god_ did he like it. He liked it far too much.

She moved her deft hands to his lower back, forcing his hips forward into hers. This deceptively small adjustment elicited a gasp from Amy and a low growl from Derek. He buried the noise in the column of her throat and for a while they seemed to fit together perfectly.

She could have sworn she heard angels sing as his mouth worked on her neck. It was bliss, perfection. For a moment, she feared she'd died and gone to heaven as his hands traveled the length of her body, moving upwards from her thighs all the way to her long locks. Her clothes were invariably jostled in his wake, but it was her hair that was truly irreparable. He seemed to have some fixation with it, knotting his hands into the chocolate tresses at the base of her head. Or maybe he was just trying to make her more comfortable by giving her a pillow; he had forced her back to get much better acquainted with a tree than she had ever wanted.

But she was taking liberties, too. Derek's body felt as if it had been sculpted from marble, and his wife-beater concealed nothing. She felt every firm muscle in his upper body, and even a few that lay lower. She inhaled his scent; due to the fact that he'd bathed recently, it was incredibly pleasant – like cloves and soap.

But soon, her hands once again got a little too frisky for his liking. "Take it down a notch, _Amy_." She nearly swooned at the low pitch of his voice, _the way he said her_ _name! _It was something else. Something beautiful, something otherworldly. The sound was almost enough to ease mind-numbing pain caused by the loss of his touch. Almost, but not quite.

"Still think you're corrupting an innocent?" she teased, breathless. She couldn't help but push the boundaries again. But this time, he reaction wasn't so negative.

He concealed a smile – not a smirk, a _smile _(the first one she had ever seen from him) – by tilting his head to the right. "Maybe not."

"Good," she purred. He still held her wrists in his hands; they noticed this simultaneously and he released her, to her great discontent.

"But Amy –" And _god,_ her name again! It was music. It was enough to almost make her forget what she was about to say.

"No. No 'but's. Whatever bad experience you've had in the past, whatever you're trying to protect yourself from, whatever you're trying to protect _me_ from is irrelevant."

He contemplated her words with a slight frown that didn't let her know whether she'd gotten through to him or not. "You should get back to your friends," he said finally, with conviction.

She supposed it was better than 'I can't see you again,' or 'This should have never happened' (both of which, frankly, would have been completely plausible responses), but she was still not pleased with his reaction.

"I don't want to go back in there," she grumbled. And it was true, she didn't. There was no reason for her to return to the party.

"…Why?"

"All my friends have moved on from me. There's no reason for me to go back." Maybe she was being dramatic, but she couldn't be bothered to care. She knew she would just feel jealous and hurt if she returned.

He cocked his head to the side, observing her with thinly veiled curiosity. "I'll take you home, then."

She never agreed, but nonetheless allowed him to guide her into the front seat of his Camaro (luckily, she had arrived in Allison's car). It was only twelve – by the time they got to her house, it would only be a couple minutes past her curfew. And she could easily fake being sober because by this point she was only slightly tipsy.

A solid five minutes into the ride: "You're confusing the hell out of me, you know."

His jaw tightening was the only indication that he'd heard her. He took his damn time responding, but ultimately replied, "I know."

"_And?_"

Agitation washed over his features. "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to make a fucking decision."

He raised his eyebrows at the profanity only because he saw right through it – she was trying to sound older than she was, and that was the root of the problem.

"Look, it might be hard for you to understand, but I know how this is from your perspective. I've been there."

"Yeah? Well then you'll know that it _sucks_."

"I know. And I'm sorry for that, I am. But _you_ have to understand that anything happening between the two of us would be stupid – not to mention irresponsible – on my part."

"And why is that?" she snapped waspishly.

"Because I'm way older."

She rolled her eyes and cursed herself immediately after because she knew it made her look like a petulant child. She was thankful that he had yet to tear his gaze away from the road in front of them. "I'm old enough to make my own decisions."

"That's what I thought when I was your age, too."

"You're not taking advantage of me."

"You've made it clear that you don't think so."

"It's not a matter of me 'thinking so' or not, it's a fact."

"That remains to be seen."

"Ugh, I don't know why you have to be so difficult! If this is about your ex, then you need to get over it, Derek! That was years ago! It's not the same situation!"

"You don't know the whole story," he growled, suddenly livid.

Amy instantly curtailed her rant. "Then what's the whole story?" she asked.

"Another time."

"No, tell me. You've made it clear that you don't want there to _be_ another time, so at least have the courtesy to tell me why."

It took a bit more coaxing, but the word 'courtesy' seemed to strike a chord. Finally, he answered, "Kate… I didn't know it at the time, but she had dated my uncle, Peter. That fire at my house wasn't an accident, Amy. It was Kate."

"_What_?"

"She was just using me to get revenge on him for breaking up with her."

"_What_?"

"Yeah. I was an idiot."

"Why didn't you go to the police?" she demanded, overwhelmed by this news.

"There's no evidence. But I know that she did it. I just know. The two of them – they're _both_ bat-shit crazy. That janitor that my uncle killed was an accomplice. He was trying to get revenge."

"I can't believe… She's just going to get away with it?"

He shrugged. "There's nothing I can do." _Now_ it made sense why he was so angry all the time.

"Who's to say that she won't do something like that again? She can't be allowed to just carry on…"

"I'm not too worried. There's nothing else she can take from me."

"What about Isaac?"

His eyes flashed with fury. "_Don't_. Don't even mention him."

"It's a fair point," she insisted.

"If I so much as even suspect she has any intention of hurting my cousin, I'll kill her myself."

"Do you even know where she is?"

"She lives in the next town over. I'm not a complete idiot. I've been keeping tabs on her, making sure she doesn't come near me. Believe me, Amy, if I thought there was a way I could bring her to justice, I wouldn't hesitate to do it. But that's beside the point."

"Damn straight it is," she muttered. "Is this your way of telling me that you're using me to get revenge on my family? Because somehow I have a hard time buying that."

"Look," he sighed, "I'm just saying that you'd be better off with someone your own age. It's so much less complicated that way."

"But I mean, you can't tell me that what just happened should be… ignored."

"It should be."

"Okay, I meant to say _can be_."

It took him much longer to come up with a response for this one. He was racking his brain in search of reasons that they shouldn't see each other again, reasons she would understand. It was harder than it should have been.

She took advantage of the lull in conversation to add, "You can't deny that that was… great."

Yeah, he really couldn't. "That is irrelevant."

"Um, no, it's not," she objected. She flung her hand across the center console and rested in on his knee, gradually gliding it upwards. "Tell me," she breathed seductively, "that this is irrelevant."

Now, Derek was stubborn as hell, but he was still only human. This was the third time in an hour that she had made a move for his crotch, and he really didn't think he could withstand much more. She felt his quad muscle tense instantaneously under her touch. In fact, she saw every muscle in his _entire body_ tense. Through clenched teeth, he ground out, "Stop." _God-knows, stop, before I pull over right now and screw the living daylights out of you_, was what he really meant.

She obliged. His posture told her all she needed to know: that he was just as affected by her was she was by him. "Now," she continued, feeling delightfully in command, "remember when you called me persistent? Well, that's not going to change. There's something basic between us, something that just _works_."

God, he hated that she was right. He really hated it. "What do you want from me?" he asked tiredly.

"I want you to give this a shot. If you just let go…"

If he had a dollar for every time someone told him to let go, he'd be a millionaire. No one knew, no one understood how impossible that was. How he fucked things up when he let go. Things like the Kate Incident happened when he let go.

Amy realized her misstep before he even had a chance to voice his resentment. "I know, I know. You just explained it to me, I know. But c'mon, do I seem like a threat to you? What are you so afraid of?" she asked softly.

What _was _he so afraid of? He couldn't really come up with a rational reason other than that he was too old for her, and he had already exhausted that excuse. And he also had to be honest with himself – he'd gotten past the age difference. Now? Now, it was just a matter of him not wanting to bend to her will.

They arrived where he typically dropped her off. He was positive that it wasn't actually her house, but didn't care enough to ask her about it and he could tell that she wasn't keen on giving him the details. He surmised that it probably had something to do with her parents, who she had avoided mentioning at all costs.

He caught her off guard when she heard the _click_ of his door closing after she had already started to walk away. But she didn't turn around.

Despite all evidence to the contrary, he really didn't _want_ to deny himself the satisfaction of "spending time" (a euphemism) with her. While she did occasionally irritate him, he found her to be infinitely more tolerable than other girls he had met for the simple fact that she was spunky. And he knew it was wrong, that she was only in high school, but if he liked her _now_, how might he feel about her in a couple of years? The way he saw it, she was possibly a good investment. Maybe it wouldn't be so horrible to at least give her a chance.

With these thoughts in mind, he grabbed her wrist and spun her into him. He captured her lips in his as they stood in the grass of one of her neighbor's lawns; they were invisible, on the periphery of the yellow glow cast by the streetlights. His sturdy arms encircled her waist, aiding her effort to minimize the inconvenience of their height difference.

Amy was shocked for a variety of reasons, the first being that, after all his sulking, Derek had initiated the kiss. Secondly, said kiss was far gentler than what they'd just shared.

Granted, everything leading up to this point had been rather rushed and frenzied and god-knows, the word _steamy_ came to mind. But _this_? This was borderline romantic. She could practically hear victory trumpets ring out, because it struck her then that she had triumphed. She had gotten through to him.

When they separated (begrudgingly, on her part), she rested her forehead against his. She kept her eyes close, hoping, _praying_ for the moment not to end.

His husky voice roused her from her daydream. "Fine," he conceded, "I'll give it a shot."

Amy's heart soared, and she could do nothing to stifle the formation of an enormous grin. "I promise you," she started, "you won't regret it." She then proceeded to give him a peck on the cheek and reluctantly slip from his grasp.

"I'll see you soon," she whispered. It wasn't a request, it was an order.

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**Author's Note: Soooo I'm going back to college tomorrow... Which means, updates won't be as frequent. I'M SORRY, GUYS. But hopefully this will tide you over for a little while at least. It was super long and full of Deramy, what more could you ask for? (kidding). Also, reviews may persuade me to get my ass in gear (wink wink nudge nudge), so PLEASE review. Thanks for reading, my loves!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note: Hey guys! I know it's been a while since I updated this, so here you go! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed and you really did help me to get my act together. I can't promise that updates are going to be very consistent, but I'll try to post stuff when I can. **

**Song for the chapter: Elle me dit by Mika. It has nothing to do with anything, but I was listening to it when I wrote this. It means "she tells me" in French.**

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**Elle Me Dit**

On Sunday morning, Stiles showed up at Amy's doorstep, uninvited and unannounced. Now, if circumstances had been the reverse, it wouldn't have been anything to even bat an eye at. But Stiles hardly ever visited Amy; on the rare occasions that he did, he was always met with the distinct feeling that her parents disliked him and were suspicious of his intentions.

But, drastic times called for drastic measures.

Mrs. Bell answered the door, her eyebrows arched dramatically and a look of shock displayed across her sharply defined features. "Hello, Stiles – what are you doing here?"

"Hey – uh – hello, Mrs. Bell. Is um – is Amy around?" he stuttered anxiously. Dealing with parents wasn't exactly his strong suit…

"Yes, come in. Amy! Your friend Stiles is here," she called up to her daughter's room.

Across the hall on the second story, Ian poked his head out to witness the awkwardness of the scene.

"Hey, Ian," Stiles greeted with a curt wave. In response, Ian acknowledged him with a cool nod and retreated back into his bedroom.

_Curiouser and curiouser, _the younger of the two mused to himself. Whatever was going on, he was going to get to the bottom of it. School gossip – though he didn't subscribe to it – was difficult to avoid, and from said source he had learned that Stiles was dating the notorious Erica Reyes. So, what was going on between him and Amy? Their relationship was platonic, perhaps, as they both vehemently insisted, but something didn't add up. He smelled the perfume on Amy when she left the house in the morning, and he noticed that she had recently made a habit of constantly straightening her hair. She was trying to impress someone, that much was obvious – but who, he didn't know. Maybe it wasn't Stiles, but the pair of them were together so often that he found it exceedingly difficult to believe that there wasn't something stronger than platonic affection driving their relationship.

Soon after her mother called her, Amy appeared.

"Stiles?" she questioned, perplexed. "What are you doing here?" Stiles secretly found it telling that Amy and her mother had the exact same reaction to his presence.

"I – er – just wanted to talk to you… About that – uh – _biology project _that's due this week…" he lied, hyperaware that Mrs. Bell was still beside him. Amy shared his reluctance to speak normally in front of her mother, so she grabbed his wrist and dragged him upstairs. Though it was a completely innocent action, Mrs. Bell grimaced at the sight; perhaps naturally, the image of her teenaged daughter dragging a teenaged boy up to her bedroom was disconcerting to her.

"We'll just be a sec, Mom!" she insisted before her mother had the chance to stop them (or worse, give them some horrifying lecture about whatever it was she suspected they might be doing up there).

Once inside the relatively soundproof barrier of her bedroom, she repeated, "What are you doing here?"

"I only came to see if you were okay!" he burst out as if he'd been holding it in for a while. Sheesh, he didn't understand why this family was so skeptical of him…

She furrowed her brow uncomprehendingly. "Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh I dunno," he started sarcastically, "maybe because you A) randomly went upstairs with Isaac and then B) disappeared with Derek like a half hour later! I'd say that's erratic behavior if I've ever seen it."

Amy scoffed. "Derek took me home, didn't he tell you guys? Allison already knew, I talked to her this morning… Frankly, I'm surprised you even noticed I was gone…"

"Yeah, I mean, he told us, but wh – wait, wait, wait a sec, what's _that _supposed to mean?" He narrowed his eyes accusatorily and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm just saying," she began prissily, averting her gaze, "I'm surprised you even noticed I was gone. It's not like anyone was paying much attention to me…"

"_That's_ why you left? Because no one was paying attention to you? Oh my god, I thought something had happened! Phew, what a relief – you were just being a drama queen – but honestly, that's extreme, even for you."

"I am _not_ being a drama queen," she defended lamely. "Look, that's not why – it was just awkward. There was you and Erica and Allison and Scott and Lydia and Jackson… And I don't really know anyone else that well."

"Uh, apparently you and _Isaac_ were getting pre_-_tty chummy," he countered, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Huh? Oh my god, no, it was nothing like that! Is that what everyone thought happened?" she exclaimed, panicked. It suddenly made much more sense why Stiles might have been concerned about her.

"Lydia and Jackson mostly, but yeah, kinda. You guys were talking really – um – _closely _before you went upstairs… You seemed to be getting along. I noticed that he came back downstairs right away, though, so I figured nothing too interesting happened."

"Not with him, no," she replied vaguely.

"Not… with… him?" Stiles prodded, "Which is to say that something interesting happened with someone _else_?"

"Perhaps."

"Don't give me that 'perhaps' bullshit," he scoffed impatiently. "This isn't freakin' Downton Abbey – did you, you know…?"

Amy's mouth fell open in a mixture of mock surprise and faux affront. "No, I'm not a complete skank, Stiles!"

"Yeah, yeah, don't get your panties in a twist," he dismissed, "So what happened, then, Saint Amelia?"

Suddenly very uncomfortable with Stiles' interest in her sex life (and the mention of her undergarments), Amy replied, "We basically just – ugh, why am I telling you this? We made-out for a little while. Nothing big… _Although_, I may have possibly convinced him to give me another shot…"

"'May have' or did?" he questioned.

"Did."

He raised his eyebrows. "Well, that's a plot twist," he commented, mulling over the new information. "We all kinda thought maybe you were gonna go for Isaac… So you don't like him at all? Because if you do, you know, it's still not too late. Once you _really_ start something with Derek your chances will be over, but right now you have the option. He's a really nice kid, Amy."

"I know," she conceded. "But – I don't know – Derek just has this certain draw."

"Isaac would probably be better for you," he said bluntly, as if he'd meant to insinuate it before but she hadn't grasped what he was saying.

"That's an opinion."

"Yeah, but it's _my _opinion."

"Yes and I appreciate it, but I'm going to make my own decisions."

"How do you know that he won't just pussy out again?"

"Trust me, I think I convinced him that it'd be worth his while…"

"What happened to the whole prude-act?" he laughed.

"I said I wasn't a skank, not that I was a prude," she reasoned. "There is a happy medium, let me assure you. I just gave him a little taste of the merchandise – a test-drive, is all…"

"Jesus, enough with the innuendos. I think this conversation is finished."

"Well, you asked..."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd actually tell me."

Amy tutted softly and said, "Please, it's not like either of us has a filter around the other."

"I know, and I'm beginning to wish we did…"

"Trifles. It's too late for that now, buddy. It's weird though – things are going to be different from now on, now that everyone's dating someone."

Stiles made a face; he hadn't actually thought of it in that light, but he supposed she was correct. This new development would certainly change the dynamics of their social circle.

"I guess. But, speaking of which," he said finally, "I'm having lunch with Erica in like fifteen minutes – I gotta go."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, the brunette replied, "Fine, go. Good talk. Thanks for stopping by." She gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder and motioned towards the door, her eyes dancing with amusement. Though she wasn't entirely conscious of it, she was immensely glad and relieved that he had taken an interest in her wellbeing. Even with Erica on his mind constantly, he hadn't forgotten about her _completely_.

Again, Stiles was mildly perplexed by her stilted speech, but left nevertheless. He had more important things to do than contemplate Amy's strange behavior, things that didn't involve any contemplation whatsoever. Things that involved Erica.

"See ya," he said on his way out the door.

He passed a riveted-looking Ian on his way down the hall and gave him a short wave goodbye. He knew Amy's brother had at least some basic knowledge of the gossip of Beacon Hills – their school was fairly small. And anyone who knew anything knew that Stiles and Erica were dating – which meant that suspicions of him and Amy having a thing had finally been put to rest. But Ian still couldn't fathom anyone of the male persuasion hanging out with his sister without ulterior motives. She wasn't exactly what you would call a "guy's girl," and could be quite high-maintenance at times. But alas, he thought, perhaps his analysis of her personality needed some revisiting.

**oxOxo**

Stiles had always had a bit of a lead foot when it came to driving, and now was certainly no exception – the anticipation of seeing his beautiful, golden-haired girlfriend only worsened this problem. He didn't know whether it was incredibly lucky or incredibly _un_lucky that his father was a (former) sheriff. While it meant he was undoubtedly subject to more scrutiny than his peers, it also meant he was moderately immune to speeding tickets. It was a double-edged sword, per se.

When he arrived at her house, she was already walking towards the car. He was silently thankful that she'd saved him the trouble of going inside. He'd dealt with far too many parents for one day, in his opinion.

"Hey," she drawled upon stepping into his Jeep.

"Hey. What's up?" While they had, at this point, become fairly comfortable with one another, there was still a residual bit of awkwardness that hung in the air between them. It was all very new; they had yet to wrap their minds around their new situation, much less settle into the sort of carefree relationship that Scott and Allison had. Inadvertent physical contact – things as simple as an accidental brush of hands – still sent tingles through Stiles' bloodstream.

"Nothing much," she sighed, "Just the usual. How about you?"

"Same," he grunted.

"What'd you do this morning?"

"Nothing interesting. Chilled with Amy for a bit."

Erica raised a brown eyebrow. It didn't match her hair color, Stiles noted. "Did you ever find out what last night was all about?"

"Nothing happened between her and Isaac, if that's what you're wondering." His tone was lighthearted, but the subject of Isaac was something they had yet to broach; Erica was slightly taken aback by his directness.

"What were they doing upstairs, then?"

"He's trying to set her up with Derek, I think."

She crinkled her nose in disbelief. "Why would he do _that_?"

Stiles shrugged, bored of the conversation. He'd rehashed this with Amy and he wasn't in the mood to do it again. "Who knows? Maybe he thinks a girlfriend would be good for him. Should we get going?"

"Yeah, yeah," she agreed absentmindedly.

And with that, they were off.

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**Author's note: I'm super open to suggestions with this story, so seriously tell me what you want to see and I will try my best to incorporate it! Thanks for reading, guys, and please review!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's note: As always, thanks so much to those who reviewed the last chapter! I really appreciate it! I hope you all like this one, it's Isaac-centric, which is something new.**

**Song for the chapter: Soundtrack To My Life by Kid Cudi**

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**Soundtrack To My Life**

Isaac Lahey didn't know when exactly it had happened, but somehow, over the course of the second half of the school year, his house had become the designated party spot. He figured it made sense, given it was just he and Derek, but one thing just didn't seem to fit – and that was that Isaac was a far cry from what could be considered a party animal. Now, he wasn't reclusive by any means, but he was somewhere in between.

Jackson, rightfully, had held the title before him. Jackson clearly adored parties and the attention they brought him, but he had parents. And though they were away more often than they weren't, they did in fact exist. Isaac, on the other hand, had none – only Derek, and Derek was a meager six years older than he was and therefore held little authority in the eyes of his peers. In Isaac's own eyes, however, he held a great deal. This didn't matter, though, since Derek was perfectly fine with anything Isaac chose to do… Sometimes, he felt that he had too much freedom to know what to do with. Sometimes, it felt like no one cared enough to restrict it.

So really, Isaac had no excuse to decline the requests of his friends, and thus had been shanghaied into hosting a party after Friday's lacrosse game.

"It will be fun," they said. "There will be tons of girls trying to get with you," they said.

And now, on the eve of the ordeal, Isaac was sitting on the sofa (which had been moved from its original location and pushed against the wall), watching his friends and classmates use his living room as a dance floor. He wasn't bothered, but he couldn't help but feel… used. And Erica was there, grinding with Stiles. He wasn't bothered, but...

_Am I a doormat?_ he wondered to himself, as if it were the first time the notion had ever occurred to him. They were his friends, they really were. He knew Scott genuinely liked him, at least, and the girls were very nice to him. They just didn't seem to be _interested_ in him.

He let them do this – let them use his house – because friendship was foreign to him and he wanted to preserve it at all costs.

Plus, it wasn't like he disliked having the people around; it was nice not to be alone, so alone, all the time. It was nice to have a house full of people again, even if the didn't know half of them.

But he realized then, as he sat on the sofa amidst the veritable bacchanal that was going on around him, that he was still alone.

A feeling somewhat akin to self-loathing bubbled in the pit of his stomach, and he decided to do something about it. He stood and scoped out the scene. There were girls, beautiful girls, dancing on the island in his kitchen, and he thought that he should probably try to talk to them. Why not? It was his house, he was part of the lacrosse team, and he figured that he ought to have more confidence than he did.

But as he walked towards them, something strange caught his eye. At the top of the staircase, shrouded in the shadows of the dimly-lit upper story, he saw a girl sitting with her chin resting in her hands. She watched those below her, mostly couples, from her lofty station, with a particular air of moral superiority. Her eyebrows conveyed a slight frown, as if she were worried about something, perhaps about the souls of those acting in the debauched play taking place below her.

Isaac didn't know if he was projecting his own musings on this girl, or if this was actually how she appeared. He wondered briefly if this was how he appeared to others when he was sitting on the sofa. To the objective observer, she was just a girl, an unassuming girl with an angelic face sitting at the top of his stairs.

She caught him looking at her, and they made eye contact for a split second before she looked away. He weighed his options. He could go talk to one of the obviously-inebriated girls dancing in his kitchen and possibly get lucky, or he could approach this other, mysterious girl.

He chose the latter option. Navigating through discarded cups and other miscellaneous abandoned items, Isaac climbed the steps.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hi," she said meekly.

She didn't offer any indication that she was going to continue the conversation, so Isaac prompted, "I don't think we've ever met before – I'm Isaac."

Her eyes – he couldn't make out what color they were in the dark – widened. "Oh," she said in a different, more repentant tone, "this is your house."

"Yeah," he replied, sitting two steps below her.

"I'm Meredith," she explained. "I don't go to your school, which is probably why we've never met. I'm Erica's cousin."

Isaac was taken aback and he tried to examine her features more closely, searching for a resemblance. Sure enough, she shared Erica's curly, golden hair, but that was about it. Meredith was much paler and had a fair smattering of freckles across her face. He couldn't tell much about her body type from her seated position, but she seemed considerably less voluptuous.

"So, what school do you go to, then?"

"I go to St. Beatrice's – it's an all-girls school."

"Oh okay," he replied lamely, racking his brain. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but BHHS kids rarely associated with the private school students. "Are you a senior too?"

She shook her head, her long ringlets catching the light as she moved. "No, I'm a junior."

"Cool. So, I don't mean to sound rude, but you don't really seem to be having such a great time."

Meredith bit her lower lip, as if to stifle a guilty smile. "I'm not really into the whole party scene, but Erica wanted me to come to see what it was like," she told him.

"Oh, so I see the private school girl thinks she's above all this," he teased lightly.

Meredith did not seem to realize that he was joking, and her eyebrows flew up in protest. "Oh no!" she stammered frantically, "I didn't mean it like that, I –"

Isaac broke into a grin and interrupted, "Relax! Relax, I'm just kidding."

At this, she seemed a bit embarrassed. "Oh. Sorry, I'm not good with sarcasm." From her tone, it seemed that such outbursts were not an uncommon occurrence for her. She was painfully awkward, he realized just then, beneath her beautiful exterior. She was lucky, because she could retreat into it when faced with uncomfortable social situations. He doubted she was aware of how lucky she was, in this respect and in others.

"So," he started bravely, "since I can't expect to see you at school or even at one of my parties again, when am I going to see you?"

Her blush was noticeable, even in the dim lighting. It was as though she had just realized that he was flirting with her, despite the fact that Isaac himself had thought that he was being rather forward. "Oh, I – um – I don't know," she stuttered bashfully.

"Well, I'd like to see you again. Can I call you sometime?" Isaac couldn't believe how bold he was being. It probably had something to do with the five rounds of beer pong he had played with the lacrosse team before everyone else arrived.

"O-okay," she agreed with a large grin. Oh good, it seemed like she actually liked him. Isaac was beginning to worry that she didn't and that he was annoying her, but maybe she was just shy.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it to her. When she returned it to him, he saw that her full name was Meredith Jacob. "Your last name's not Reyes?" he questioned.

"No, Erica's mom is my dad's sister," she stated. It took Isaac a moment to connect the dots, but eventually he understood.

"Gotcha," he said. He peered down from the top of the stairs, somewhat surprised by just how much he could see from this vantage point. Noticeably fewer people were present since he'd begun talking to Meredith. The core group – Stiles, Erica, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson – was still there. Amy was conspicuously missing, but one glance to Derek's firmly shut bedroom door told him all he needed to know. Derek's car was in the driveway, so he was most definitely in the house.

After this pause in which Isaac absorbed his surroundings, Meredith was the first to speak. "Wait a sec," she said slowly. "You're _Isaac _Isaac – didn't you used to date Erica?" She seemed incredibly off-put by this epiphany, and he scrambled to come up with some sort of placating response.

"Y-yeah, but that was a long time ago," he reasoned.

She crinkled her nose in a way that he unfortunately found adorable and exclaimed, "I can't go out with Erica's ex!"

"I really don't think she would care, plus she's dating my friend Stiles," he pressed. "I can ask her first, if you want."

"But still, I'd feel bad…"

"Are you two really close?"

"Not _super_ close, but still pretty close."

"Look," he started with a sigh. "You seem really cool and I just want to get to know you a bit better. There's no pressure – just like coffee or something. I'll even ask Erica to make sure it's ok. What do you say?"

She bit her lip again and looked towards the ceiling, as the answer was somehow hidden there. She turned to him again with a mildly pained expression, before tentatively replying, "Alright."

"Great," he said with a broad grin. "I'll text you later this week about it. Do you have a car?"

"Yeah," she answered. "And okay, sounds good." She looked at her phone in an effort to figure out what time it was; it was half past one, and at this realization a look of distress overtook her features. "Crap, I've gotta go," she said, standing abruptly. "It was nice talking to you – see you later." She then descended the staircase, presumably to pry Erica from Stiles and head home.

Isaac remained in his seated position, but he could hear the exchange in the distance.

"We need to leave soon, I have to get up in the morning for ballet," Meredith explained ruefully to Erica. _Of course she does ballet_, Isaac thought to himself wryly.

"Okay." He could hear in Erica's voice that she was not pleased, but understood that tonight she was her cousin's chaperone first and Stiles' girlfriend second. "Bye babe." The last part was undeniably meant for Stiles. Isaac almost winced.

The pair started towards the front door, into his view. "Bye!" Erica called to him, waving. Meredith smiled sheepishly without showing her teeth and also waved. Seeing the two of them together like this, side by side, was strange. Their hair wasn't just similar, it was _exactly _the same. But everything else was different.

"See ya," was Isaac's subdued farewell. When the door closed, he leant his head against the wall, shut his eyes, and wished for a moment that everyone would be gone when he opened them. No such luck.

Suddenly, he heard a faint noise come from upstairs. It was the quiet creak of a door, and it was undoubtedly the sign of someone leaving Derek's room. He craned his neck to see Amy tiptoe out, a sheepish look plastered on her face.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked before he could beat her to it.

"I could ask you the same," he countered with a smirk.

"I think you know."

"Gross."

"Nothing _bad_," she protested indignantly. The word "bad" clearly held an alternate meaning for her, though Isaac had rarely heard it used in this sense; he assumed it was meant to be interchangeable with "scandalous" or something similar. "Nothing too bad," she added as a mumbled afterthought.

He put his hands up in an indication for her to stop. "Hey, I didn't ask."

"Yeah, sorry." She perched where Meredith had been sitting.

"Where's Derek?" he questioned.

"…Sleeping," she answered very quietly; she was blushing madly.

"Ohhhhh," he taunted.

"Like I said, nothing bad," she assured him. "So, why are you up here anyway?"

He shrugged. "Believe it or not, I'm not really that into partying."

Amy gave him a quizzical look, like she thought he was lying to her. "Then why do you have so many at your house?"

Again, he shrugged evasively. "I guess just because it's convenient, seeing as it's only me and Derek, whereas most people have entire families to deal with."

She clearly found this explanation sad, and her expression changed immediately to be compassionate. Isaac shifted uncomfortably against the wall.

Amy looked like she wanted to say something reassuring, but changed her mind at the last moment and instead said, "Well, I was just going to get a drink of water and then I'm going to go to bed. Do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Alright," she said skeptically, stepping over him. There was something oddly maternal about her tone as she said that one simple word, but Isaac brushed it off. Any thoughts relating to parents always put him in a low mood.

Amy quickly came and went, wordlessly retreating back into Derek's room for the night. He vaguely wondered how many of his friends were planning to stay over at his house, seeing as the only other suitable place to sleep was the sofa. _Oh well_, he finally decided, it wasn't his problem. He had a nice, plush, queen-size bed that he was sure as hell wasn't going to let anyone else use.

The bones in his lanky legs cracked loudly as he finally rose to a standing position and moseyed into his bedroom. The promise of seeing Meredith Jacob in the near future kept him from feeling as alone as he usually did, and he was able to fall into a dreamless sleep the moment his head hit the pillow.

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**Author's note: SO. This is my first time truly trying to delve into Isaac's character, and I'd love to hear what you all think. Also what do you think of Meredith? Love her or hate her? I feel like there's room for more than one OC in this story because there are so many characters, but I could be wrong. Also side note, in my head she is portrayed by Freya Mavor, who played Mini in Skins (gotta keep with the Skins theme haha). Anyway, let me know what you think!**


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